


Story of Your Bones

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clan Denial, Confrontations, Curses, Demons, Drama, F/M, Fae Magic, Foul Language, Friendship, Inspired by Music, Loyalty, Magic, Minor Character Death, Religion-as-Magic, Religious Content, Reunions, Richie Lives, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: Twenty years ago, Richie and Duncan fought over a woman – and for twenty years, Duncan hasn’t remembered what the argument was about, or why Richie has been bouncing all over the US and Europe. Every time he’s asked where Richie is, the answer has been “with a mutual friend” – a veritable who’s who of Duncan’s friends, all who claim to know nothing of the argument or the woman. But Duncan’s going to need to discover the answers to both to save his former student in time.
Relationships: Connor MacLeod & Richie Ryan, Cory Raines & Richie Ryan, Duncan MacLeod & Connor MacLeod, Duncan MacLeod & Richie Ryan, Duncan MacLeod & Terence Coventry, Duncan MacLeod/Original Female Character, Kyra (Highlander) & Richie Ryan, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Terence Coventry & Richie Ryan
Comments: 56
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to havocthecat for the alpha read/initial beta, and to N. for the beta.

#### March 17, 2000

“Mac, I’m telling you, that new girlfriend of yours gives me the creeps.”

Duncan slanted an annoyed look at his former student. “Is that why you’ve been acting so strange? You liked Camilla the first time you met her.”

“Yeah, but you don’t usually put up with the clingy ones, and I don’t like how she keeps showing up even when you haven’t invited her. It’s like she’s made of magic.”

Duncan stared at him. “You’ve been watching too many late-night horror movies again.”

Exasperated at the way Duncan refused to believe him, Richie threw up his hands. “I haven’t even seen fifteen minutes of TV in the last week. I swear to you, she’s stalking me, asking me when I’m moving out, when will I give you two time alone. That’s not right.”

“Your imagination is running overtime,” Mac returned.

“It’s not. We’ve been arguing about this for a week. You don’t believe me and I’m sick of repeating myself. I’m going out.” Richie put on his jacket and slung his backpack, which already held his motorcycle helmet, over his shoulder, intending to leave.

Abruptly, Duncan’s sword across his chest blocked his exit. “I think you just want Camille for yourself.”

Richie froze for a heartbeat, then glanced up at Duncan. “No, I don’t.” He tossed his backpack at his former teacher, causing Duncan to stumble back.

The move broke the magic holding sway over Duncan. Duncan shook himself, stared at the sword in his hand, and looked at Richie. “What – what was I doing?” he asked, bewildered.

Still keeping a wary eye on the other immortal, Richie picked up his backpack. “Telling me how to block an attack when my hands are full,” he lied. “See you later, Mac.”

He nodded to the raven-haired, ruthlessly beautiful, pale-skinned woman who manifested next to Duncan. Her elfin features reflected fury. “Camille.”

He didn’t look back, getting on his motorcycle and speeding away as his heart pounded in his chest. Six blocks later, he pulled into the parking lot of a 7-11. Going up to a payphone, he pulled out a calling card from his wallet and dialed a number he’d hoped to rarely use.

“Connor, it’s Richie. Your cousin is being controlled by a witch or demon.”

“How do you know?”

“Regular people don’t just show up in a room when you haven’t opened the door.” He paused. “Plus, nobody smells like rotten eggs unless they’ve been sleeping next to a Dumpster full of, well, rotting eggs.” Silently, he willed the elder Highlander to believe him.

“Show up how?”

“Like a fog that just appears on the road if the conditions are right. You can touch her when she’s solid, though, and her touch is like ice. I don’t know how the hell Mac can kiss her.”

“If she’s one of the Sidhe, she can make a man believe anything is real.”

“Well, I don’t know what that is, but I’d say she’s got your cousin hoodwinked into thinking she’s a real woman.”

Connor swore. “Is there anyone else there who’d believe you? Where are you?”

“In Seacouver. It’s just me and Mac.”

“What about the hawk-nosed bastard who’s been sniffing around my cousin?”

Startled, Richie stared at the receiver. “You know about Me – Adam?”

“Is that what he’s calling himself these days? He tried to tell me a tale of just being a guy about a century ago, but the Kurgan was hunting him. I know he’s the oldest of us still alive.”

“He’s not here. He said what happened in '97 in Paris was a warning.” Richie grimaced. “I didn’t understand what he meant but I figured he was old enough to listen to. I think he was right.” Relief washed through Richie at Connor’s acceptance of his word.

“Call Terence Coventry; he’s in Portland, Oregon. Tell him what you told me. He was a traveling bard before he was an English lord; he knows how to use music to defend against the fae and demons. Ask him to sing; he’ll know what to do. Tell him if Carolyn writes about me, I want written acknowledgment in the book.” Connor rattled off the number.

Richie hesitated. Telling himself he was being ridiculous, he memorized the number and instructions. “Anything else?”

“Pray and hope she’s not a demon.”

“Why?”

“Demons don’t just attach themselves to one target, Richie. If Terence asks you to leave, go, don’t hesitate. I’ll be there by the end of the week.” Connor disconnected the line.

Richie dialed Terence next. He was relieved when the phone did not go to a message machine.

“Hello?” The English-accented male voice sounded wary.

“Hi, you don’t know me, but my name is Richie Ryan. I was Duncan’s student. Connor MacLeod told me to call you.”

“Yes, we just missed meeting each other a few years ago,” Terence said, his voice warm and less wary. “Amanda told me if you ever had problems with Duncan I should help. Can you confirm something for me?”

“Sure,” Richie said.

“Is it true you met Amanda before you were one of us, and that she got you in trouble with someone named Tessa?”

“Yes,” Richie said, groaning at the memory. “I’d never been grounded in my life until that day. Amanda offered to sneak me out, like I was in jail. I had to tell her no. If it helps, Connor said to tell you that if Carolyn writes about him, he wants written acknowledgement in the book.”

Terence chuckled. “All right, that’s good enough confirmation for me. How can I help you?”

“I think a demon attached itself to Mac. Connor thinks it’s a, she – sidhe – I can’t say what he said.”

“Sidhe?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“It means the Fair Folk, the Faerie. Some of whom are neither fair nor folk, and who will find endless amusement in taking one of us home.”

“I’m guessing that’s a one-way ticket.”

“Yes. Or you might be released centuries from now, when the fae who trapped you finally tires of you or dies. One of us would be a tempting target since we’re not as likely to die so quickly.”

Richie grimaced. “Whatever it is, I don’t dare go home. Can you help?”

“Where are you?”

“At a 7-11 in Seacouver.”

“Where’s the nearest church?”

“Across the street about six blocks down. It’s Seton Catholic,” Richie said, grateful that the church name was so distinctive. “Connor said to tell you to sing.”

“Ask the priest to bless you against demons; that should hold you for the next few hours. If it’s a Fae, the Fae don’t like Catholic churches. The Church tried to stamp out all traces of anyone believing in the Fae and giving them proper tribute. If it’s an actual demon, well…. Then you’ve done something. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Look for a tall, well-dressed gentleman with graying hair.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three hours later, the unmistakable warning of immortal presence made Richie stand and turn to face the door. The stranger stood about four inches taller than Richie’s five-feet-ten-inch height, with his weight evenly distributed across his medium frame. He had long arms. The tan trench coat he wore fit him perfectly, which told Richie it had been customized to fit. His receding black hair was going gray at the edges. A wide forehead, a large, straight nose, angular eyebrows, and a square jaw dominated his oval face. He radiated command and confidence. Under his coat, he wore a dress shirt, khakis, and dress shoes. He carried a small duffel bag.

Seeing Richie waiting for him, he strode forward. “Richie Ryan? I’m Terence Coventry.” He spoke with a hint of an English accent.

Richie stepped out of the row of pews and shook his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“Duncan’s an old friend,” Terence told him. His brown eyes missed nothing as he took in Richie’s appearance. “He helped me with a major dispute I was having with my wife a few years ago; saved our marriage. Enough about me; how are you?”

“Is it too late to admit I’m scared?” Richie asked tiredly as he sat back down in a pew.

Terence took the seat next to him. “No,” he said firmly. “Now describe this girlfriend of Duncan’s.”

“Touching her feels like I’m plunging my hand into a bucket of ice,” Richie said. “She’s beautiful, but everything about her is too perfect unless you get close. She smells like rotten eggs and can manifest in a room if you say her name.”

Terence pulled a notepad and pen out of his duffel bag. The action revealed the bag also held clothes, a colorfully decorated drawstring bag, and a pair of decorated leather vambraces. “Then write it.”

Richie wrote ‘Camille’ on the paper.

Both men heard a distinct scratching on the church door. Alarmed, Terence looked at Richie. “You’re not dealing with ordinary fae, Richie. Fae rarely come when summoned. This is sounds more like the child of a fae and a succubus. Have you or Duncan been in contact with anything magical or otherworldly?”

“Cassandra and her student Roland; she knows magic and both used Voice. Two years ago, there was also a rogue Watcher who was good at illusions and mentalism. He almost convinced Duncan and me a millennial demon existed, and that Duncan was the chosen Champion.”

Terence made a disgusted face at that. “Exposure to Cassandra would mean a door’s been opened to places where demons live. I learned from her how to do a few things. She thought – because I wasn’t willing to show her how much I already knew – that I wouldn’t know how dangerous it is to do magic without precautions. Plus, that rogue Watcher could have had a genuine demon. How did you figure out it wasn’t real?”

Richie hesitated. “Someone much older and wiser saw through it,” he hedged. He was unwilling to trust Methos’s identity to a relative stranger, even if Connor had vouched for Terence.

Terence nodded. He took the notepad and pen back and put them in his bag before asking, “Do you believe in any specific religion?”

“No, but I know enough to recognize there’s something else out there. Places like this church and Duncan’s island have this resonance I can’t explain.”

“I suspected as much.”

“Will that be a problem?” Richie worried.

“No, but before we go any further, I need to do one thing.” In a strong voice, he sang, “In this holy place, there shall be no marks of evil on us, only blessings from the Creator. I bind unto myself the Name, the strong Name of the Trinity; by the invocation of the same. The Three in One, and One in Three, of Whom all nature hath creation, Eternal Father, Spirit, Word. Praise to the Lord of my salvation, Salvation is of Christ the Lord. Give my friend and I protection and salvation, from all that would cause us harm.”

Richie gasped as though someone had shot him. Terence caught him as he fell forward, and pressed him against the pew, forcing him upright.

“Remove all that would harm my friend and me, oh Lord and Savior,” Terence continued to sing, “so we may be stewards of your grace and your glory.”

Richie gasped again as pain shot through him from where Terence’s hands braced him. For a moment, he thought being stabbed through the heart would be less painful. He blacked out – for how long, he didn’t know – but when he came to again, Terence was playing a flute.

“What happened?” Richie asked.

“She marked you,” Terence told him, putting the flute back into its multicolored bag. He put a hand on Richie’s chest, then nodded, satisfied. “I just took out the marks.” From his bag, he removed a pair of vambraces, decorated with silver, bronze, and gold. “Put these on, then stay close. We’ll need all your faith in a higher power to exit this church in one piece.”

The vambraces looked like jeweled armor, but both felt heavy with something extra. Richie couldn’t explain how it felt, just like he couldn’t explain how he knew someone was an immortal or a plot of ground was sacred. The vambraces secured with leather straps; Richie needed Terence’s help to fasten them onto his forearms. Once both were secure, Richie blinked as he felt abruptly stronger and not as exhausted as he had felt.

“What’s in these?” he asked, surprised at how they made him feel.

“Blessings from the Celtic druid who made them with love,” Terence told him, grinning. “It’s not a full protective suit, but they’ll help until we can get dinner.” At Richie’s look of curiosity, Terence elaborated, “Her marking you meant she could feed off of your energy. Food will help refresh you, but until then, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“What about you?”

Terence smiled and zipped up the bag. Standing, he went to the altar, knelt, and made the sign of the cross before the altar. “Thank you, God, for all you have given me. Protect us now as we leave your sanctuary.”

A wave of love washed over Richie, stunning him in its warmth and acceptance. Instinctively, Richie knew it came from the divine entity Terence had invoked. Sunlight abruptly illuminated the altar where Terence knelt.

Looking satisfied, Terence rose. He picked up his bag and used the shoulder strap to sling it over his body but kept his flute in his right hand.

“Don’t look behind us as we go out the door. Keep your eyes on me and walk where I walk.”

“What about my motorcycle?”

Terence hesitated. “Leave it here for now; we’ll come back for it tomorrow. That’s how this fae bastard found us so quickly; it’s marked you and your stuff. I need supplies to disinfect your motorcycle, and it’ll be easier if it stays in this parking lot overnight. I’m more worried about Duncan than your motorcycle.”

“Got it.”

Terence’s sedan was parked close to the door, but it felt like something wanted to batter at them as they walked to it. Terence played his flute until they were inside, not even pausing as he unlocked the car and directed Richie to get inside.

Richie glimpsed Camille as she flung herself at the windshield of the car, only to scream in high-pitched agony as something repelled her.

“What did you do?”

“Washed my car in holy water,” Terence said cheerfully as he started the car. “Fae magic has rules, Richie. Some fae try to circumvent the rules by sleeping with other magical folks, creating hybrids that are more resistant to, say, iron. But succubae are vulnerable to holy weapons. And no, I’m not special – you can learn how to do what I’ve done so far.”

“And all this just proves we’re on the right track,” Richie summarized. Relief washed through him. “How did you learn about magic?”

“My first teacher, who was a monk, thought if I learned how to play a lyre and a flute, I should know what songs to sing when. He said I could make magic if I knew what to say and how to say it.” Terence shrugged. “He wanted me to learn humility; he thought I’d been an arrogant prick for assuming what I’d assumed. Having to practice everything, knowing if I messed up, I could desecrate the church – well. His plan worked.” He slanted a look at Richie. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “But ask me again in a few hours. I’m still in the ‘I can’t believe this shit is happening’ and ‘panic later, fix this now’ mode.”

Terence barked a laugh. “We’ll order room service when we get to my hotel. For what it’s worth, Richie – you’re doing well. Some people would just keep running and not know how to ask for help.”

“Connor and I had a long talk about asking for help,” Richie admitted. “I spent last summer working for and learning from him. He disabused me of a few misconceptions I’d had.”

“Such as?”

“His willingness to help me,” Richie said. “I thought he dumped me on Mac because he didn’t care. Turned out I was wrong about that and a bunch of other things.”

Terence used a stoplight to glance at Richie. “Did you meet both MacLeods when you didn’t know about immortals?”

“Yeah, I broke into Mac’s antique store a few minutes before a headhunter named Slan Quince jumped into it. Slan was after Mac. Connor had been hot on Slan Quince’s trail. I was a runaway foster kid, gang member, and petty thief, living on the street. Picked up a sword on display and two seconds later, I had three swords trained on me – Slan’s, Mac’s, and Connor’s. In hindsight, I realized the MacLeods could have thought I was a scout for a headhunter.”

“You’re lucky the MacLeods aren’t the kind to shoot first and ask questions later,” Terence noted.

“I know,” Richie said quietly. He took a deep breath. “Should you shop for things before we go to your hotel?”

“Food first,” Terence insisted. He drove to the Four Seasons hotel in the heart of downtown Seacouver.

“I hope I’m not costing you too much,” Richie began as he stepped into the room. He saw instantly that Terence had chosen a suite. The suite had two queen-size beds, a couch that Richie suspected became a pull-out bed, a table for four, a desk, and a corner view of the harbor.

After shutting the door, Terence turned to him. “I’m not poor, Richie, and I hate staying in cheap hotels. My wife is at a romance writers' convention. Having been to multiple ones, I can only tolerate so much talk about book deals, writing sex scenes, and industry gossip before I go screaming out of the room. Helping you with something I know how to fix is not a hardship.” He paused. “How long have you been in the Game?”

“Six, almost seven years. I met the MacLeods in 1992; Duncan became my legal guardian a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday. A little over a year later, a mugger shot me and Duncan’s girlfriend, Tessa.” Grief made him swallow hard. “I got up; she didn’t. What about you?”

“I was born in 1182 in Coventry, England, the son of a minor nobleman. I was forty-one when another nobleman took offense at a joke I made and killed me.” Terence looked at Richie. “That’s when I learned some people really can’t take a joke.”

“Ouch,” Richie said sympathetically, but realizing the immortal he was with was over seven hundred years old made him feel much better. That put Terence as older than either of the MacLeods. “That means this isn’t the first time you’ve seen the fae at work.”

“No, it isn’t. And frankly, I’m a little surprised. You’re more apt to find them in Europe than here. Belief in them here in America has faded over the years.” He set his duffel bag down, then picked up the room service menu before passing the leather-bound booklet to Richie. “Pick out what you want to eat. We’ll go shopping after and pick up any clothes you need from Duncan’s apartment. I assume you’re staying with him?”

“Yeah, I stay with him since it’s cheaper than finding a hostel or motel. I don’t have good credit so I usually have to prove I have a steady paycheck before an apartment complex will rent to me.”

“How come you don’t have good credit?”

“I race motorcycles and tend bar,” Richie admitted. “I haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life yet.” He looked at the menu. “Can I get a steak, medium rare, with sour cream and bacon on the baked potato, and Coke?”

“Sure.” Terence picked up the phone and dialed room service. “Yes, this is Terence Coventry in room 615. I’d like two steaks, both medium rare, one with sour cream and bacon on the baked potato, and the other with chives. Also, Coke and a glass of the house red wine. Yes, that’s all. Half an hour? Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.” He hung up the phone.

“If you weren’t staying with Duncan, what would you do?” Terence asked him as he sat down on the couch opposite Richie.

“Part of me wants to run,” Richie admitted. “I stayed away from him a year before he found me and convinced me I should come home, that he had more to teach me.”

“And has he?”

“Not in two years. I’ve learned more from playing the Game than I ever have from him.”

Terence frowned at that. “Then why do you stay with him, and why do you want to save him now?”

“Because I don’t want to wind up like Gregor, his other student, half-mad and alone,” Richie stated, crossing his arms unconsciously. He bit his lip before adding, “And Mac gave me the first home I’d ever known. I still think of him as home, even after all the crazy shit that’s happened. I want to save him because he saved me.” Richie looked at Terence. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. But to be clear: you don’t owe him anything, and you won’t owe me either.”

Richie jerked with surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Taking you in, housing you, feeding you, making sure you survived to see your first death and live past it: those are things a compassionate immortal does for a pre-immortal. You’re well past that time of obligation, unless Duncan makes you feel like you owe him for everything.”

“He gets this look of disappointment and I–”

“Feel like the kid he rescued off the street?”

“Pretty much.”

“When this is over, I’d like you to come with me to Portland, spend a few weeks learning about magic with me, and how you can deal with obligations like that,” Terence suggested. “You don’t have to accept now but promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I don’t have to think about it,” Richie said. “I’d love to learn from you.”

“Good. You said you tend bar? Do you have a job right now?”

Richie shook his head. “Not yet. I was debating whether I wanted to work for a friend with a blues club or go work for the new nightclub that just opened downtown. This whole thing with Mac’s girlfriend made me hesitate. I didn’t want someone else affected if I could help it. Plus, before this, Mac was talking about opening a new dojo and he wanted me to work for him, but since he met her, he has done nothing towards that.”

“How long has it been?”

“Three weeks since we came back to Seacouver, and a week since he met that thing at Joe’s,” Richie said. “Mac and I flew back from Paris together. He was afraid if I went to work for Amanda at her new club, she’d teach me how to be a better thief.”

“Can’t think of anyone better to learn from if that’s what you want to do.”

“It’s not,” Richie said flatly. “I’d like not to get arrested ever again if I can help it. What do you do?”

Terence grinned. “I invest in things that will make a lot of money, like computers and other innovative technologies. Mostly, it’s things will help other people. I was an English lord, and when I killed off that identity, I took my wealth and focused on how I could do more with what I had.”

Richie studied him. “And there aren’t people hunting for your head?”

“They’re usually people who discover I’m alive,” Terence said evenly. “I don’t have a target painted on my back like the MacLeods do. Magic isn’t always about incantations, Richie. Sometimes it’s in knowing how to hide in plain sight.”

“Maybe you can teach me how to do that.”

“Definitely. Now, did Connor say he’s coming?”

“He told me he’ll be here by the end of the end of the week, but not when. I can call him to confirm.”

“It’s Wednesday night; that gives us a few days to prepare. I hope we won’t need his help.” Terence grinned briefly. “What do you know about the fae?”

“Not much. I dropped out of school when I was fifteen. Didn’t have money for school supplies and my grades sucked, so I didn’t see the point in going anymore. CPS had bounced me to different schools all over the county, so what I learned in one school wasn’t necessarily what I learned in the next school. Mac and his late girlfriend convinced me to get my GED and they helped me study for the test, so I passed it on the first try. I remember everything someone shows me, and I pick up the things quickly.”

“And classical literature would’ve been the last thing for you to read,” Terence deduced. He took a seat on the couch. “Want the primer?”

“If it helps me kill this thing, sure.”

“The Sidhe are real. Most like to play tricks on humans, and the tricks they play range from the harmless but annoying – hiding your socks, for example – to the things that will kill you. There is a rumor that immortals were created out of an unholy union between a fae princess and a demigod to serve as knights of the court, since we can fight and live long enough to suit that purpose.”

“Do you believe that?”

Terence shrugged and turned one palm upwards in emphasis. “As rumors go, it’s been around longer than the ‘we’re aliens from other planet’ that I’ve been hearing lately. We could be a genetic mutation from a society that’s so old and forgotten that no written records exist of it. To me, that’s more plausible than anything else, given how pre-immortal babies continue to be born.”

“But you think everything’s possible,” Richie surmised.

Terence spread his hands. “I’m old enough to remember when flying in a steel tube across the ocean was not even a pipe dream, and Leonardo da Vinci’s drawings were considered the drawings of a possessed man.”

“Why would a fae target a man?”

“Because he’s pretty, vulnerable, and there,” Terence said simply. “And if it’s been a while since he’s been to church, or gotten busy, or sidetracked enough…. Well, the fae are opportunists. One of us makes for a very tempting target, since our immortality means we aren’t as fragile as mortals.”

“How can I protect myself against them?”

“Armor and preparation. The vambraces are yours to keep, but we’ll get a few other things too. Now, when and where did this entity show up?”

Richie thought. “Well, it was after we looked at a few properties with the real estate agent, so that would’ve been about two weeks after we’d settled into the apartment. Duncan has this place over a gym – the gym’s called DeSalvo’s, after the guy who sold it to him and started it. The gym’s not doing that great; the big apartment complex that used to be the big draw for us got torn down a few months ago. Between that and the squeeze on parking, Mac thought a new place, focused on martial arts, in a more family-oriented neighborhood, would be good. We were excited about a few possibilities, so we went to Joe’s, the blues club run by Duncan’s Watcher. Do you know about the Watchers?”

Terence nodded. “Duncan told me about them a few days after Carolyn and I made up; he didn’t want me going back to Portland without being aware of what they were. I don’t hold what they do against them, but I warned mine to stay out of my way. He looked scandalized and said I was considered one of the least likely immortals to be dangerous.”

Richie noted the other immortal’s offended tone. “You were insulted.”

“Hell, yes. But I saw his point. I rarely get challenged and live quietly.” Terence shook his head. “But back to the topic at hand. Joe's is a pub, which means it's public, which means unless someone consecrated it to a god of wine or liquor or fun, it's the perfect place to find a target."

Richie shook his head. "I don't think Joe thought to do any kind of consecration. You can do that? I thought it only counted if the ground was already consecrated, like Amanda's club in Paris."

"You can bless any space and make it sacred to any divine entity you like," Terence pointed out calmly. "You have to be careful about it, though; it's not something you want to do lightly."

"Because you might open a door to something else?" Richie guessed.

"Or you might piss off someone you didn't know was listening," Terence noted wryly. "This is why I leave such things to trained people. Now, as for the Fae - they have weaknesses. They are susceptible to iron; it kills them. Pure iron is scarce, but steel swords will kill them if you cut off their heads.”

“You said you think we’re dealing with some hybrid.”

“I’ll know for sure when we get your clothes, but yes. In that case, blessed objects and steel should suffice for what we need, but the fae may exact promises if we agree not to kill them. Do not promise what you might not be willing to deliver. They have long memories and are masters at finding loopholes.”

Richie did not know how to reply to that. He considered his options. “And if I somehow live a century, they could find me again and what I promise now might not be something I’d be willing to commit to then.”

Terence nodded grimly.

“I’m going to need to learn a lot,” Richie declared heavily.

Room service knocked on the door just then. To Richie’s relief, Terence changed the topic to something less fraught.

As soon as they finished eating, Terence moved the room service items out to the hallway for pickup. Then he drove Richie over to Duncan’s apartment.

Richie stepped out of the car to find Duncan waiting for him, worried. “What happened to your motorcycle? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine. I just need to get a few things.”

Terence stepped out of the car. “Evening, Duncan. Where’s your girlfriend?”

Camille shimmered into existence, leaning on Duncan, and whispering in his ear.

“You shouldn’t be rude,” Terence continued. “Introduce us, Duncan.” Without taking his eyes off Camille and Duncan, Terence pushed Richie forward.

Taking that as his cue, Richie ran into the apartment. Camille tried to follow him, but Terence called her name.

“Dear good neighbor, tell me about yourself, so I may greet you properly. Surely a beautiful fae princess as yourself has a better, more proper name than Camille.”

Camille hissed at him. “I am not so young to be fooled by such flattery. You are not my concern. You stink of holy water and blessings, Terence of Coventry.”

“Ah, so you’re not a princess,” Terence countered. “A bastard, left to fend for herself?”

Camille hissed at him again. “You do not understand how this world works.”

“Actually, I do. You intend to drain my friend of his Quickening so you can power yourself to be a full fae or succubus. Either would win you many powerful allies.”

“And you are only a morsel,” Camille said, lunging at him, but he crossed his arms.

She bounced off the field he projected. Growling, she picked herself up.

“I will have you both,” she declared. “When you sleep, I will invade your dreams. Take your soul for mine, your face for betrayal.”

“Not in this life,” Terence said, seeing Richie return with a bag. “I ring the bells for you, ting, ting, ting,” he sang. “I ring them three times, ting, ting, ting. Be gone oh fair one, ting, ting, ting.”

Bound by the rules that said fae could be banished by the sound of bells, Camille vanished. Terrance knew it would only be temporary; the marks she had left on Duncan were deep.

Duncan blinked, startled. “Terence? What are you doing here?”

Terence sighed. Unwilling to get into explanations while Camille could still reappear, Terence resorted to trickery. “Solstice Child, we weren’t here,” he told Mac in a voice deep with command.

Duncan froze, then shook his head. He headed back into the building as if in a daze.

“Did you just use Voice on him?” Richie asked, stunned.

Terence grimaced. “Yes. Cassandra taught me; she thought I was useful before she discovered I wasn’t swayed easily because I’d already learned bardic magic. Hand me that bag a moment; I want to check it for marks.”

Richie passed his bag over. Terence said a quick prayer, and black smoke emitted from it. Terence said another prayer; Richie joined him in repeating it a third time. The bag, which had looked like it had been covered with dirt and ashes, now looked clean.

“Thought it just got dirty from being on my bike,” Richie murmured.

“No.”

Next, Terence and Richie went to a natural foods store, where Terence picked up some bulk spices, a handful of beeswax candles, and a bar of pure soap.

Richie had no idea what to expect but spending the rest of the evening watching a movie on TV and discussing the plot was not it. The next day, he went with Terence to a hardware store, a farm goods store, and finally a fencing supply company, where they picked up tools and supplies to create a wrought iron box. Richie had keys to Duncan’s warehouse, so they used its privacy to build the box.

Calling Connor that afternoon revealed he was coming in on a midnight flight from New York. As they waited, Terence used the time to teach Richie about medieval history – how life as a lord had actually been like – and to teach Richie two basic warding spells – one to protect himself, the other to protect his property. By the time they headed to the airport to pick up Connor, both men were exhausted.

Connor looked at them. “Let me drive,” he insisted, “so we get to the hotel in one piece,” he said.

Terence surrendered the keys without hesitation. “Thanks, Connor. Forgot how much magic and building stuff can take out of you.”

Connor nodded acknowledgment.

“We built an box out of wrought iron,” Richie told Connor once they were in Terence’s car. “Had to figure out where to rent a welding torch since Mac didn’t keep any of Tessa’s stuff. I didn’t know farming supply stores were a place you could get stuff from.”

Connor and Terence both chuckled.

“You sure it’s fae?” Connor asked.

“Hybrid, part succubus,” Terence told him. “We have to be careful not to touch her with bare hands or skin.”

“Why?” Richie wondered

“Because she could use that contact against us.”

“But I’ve touched her!” Richie exclaimed, aghast.

“You’re safe now, and I’d like to keep it that way,” Terence said. To Connor, he asked, “Do you want to discuss what we’ve done so far or do you want to wait until morning?”

“Have you warded the hotel room and this car?”

“Yes.” Terence sounded insulted. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

“No. I had to check.”

The ‘of course you would question this too’ tone of Connor’s voice mollified Terence. “I also warded Richie and his bag of things, since he took the bag and clothes from the apartment he shares with your cousin.”

Connor nodded, satisfied. “Then we can talk in the morning. You’re starting to sound more English than usual, Terence.”

Terence chuckled roughly. “I feel more English when I sing, especially after bardic magic.”

Once in the hotel, Connor said, “I’ll take first watch. You two sleep.”

“I’m not that tired!” Richie objected.

In reply, Connor pushed him into the nearest bed.

Amused, Terence took off his shoes. “Might as well go to bed, Richie. It’s been a long day; you’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

Grimacing at the reminder, Richie realized he would not win the argument. He quickly got ready for bed. Much to his surprise, he slept deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Terence Coventry is "the romance novel ep" immortal, but a throwaway line in the ep says he was a wandering bard and his Watcher Chronicle entry says he was an English lord, so I put the two together and came up with: wait, how does a wandering bard survive to become an English lord? ;-) My head canon is showing again.
> 
> Also, Connor learned the power of illusions from the Japanese immortal, Nakano, which is one of the few bits of a later movie I like to call canon. ;-)
> 
> I'm writing this, but it's going very slowly as I want to write the end before I post more. Suggestions for what happens next, constructive criticism, and kudos and keyboard smashes are all welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to N. for the beta.

#### March 19, 2000 - Spring Equinox

In the morning, Richie woke to the smell of coffee, French toast with maple syrup, and eggs. He found the two older immortals at the table, eating; a silver dome covered a plate, which Connor wordlessly said was his to eat.

After inhaling the stack of fluffy French toast, Richie made his way through the scrambled eggs and bacon. Looking amused, Terence pushed his uneaten bacon his way; Richie helped himself to it with a brief thanks.

“You should’ve warned me you needed more protein,” Terence chided him.

“I can eat like a teenager, and it sometimes freaks people out,” Richie told him. “I wasn’t as interested in that last night.” He took a sip of coffee. “How do we kill this thing?”

“It’s not that simple,” Connor declared.

“The problem with killing a Lethe’s Demon is not that they can’t be killed,” Terence added.

Richie eyed the older immortals. “So how do we do it and what’s the catch?”

“Capture the Lethe’s Demon in an iron cage, lure it to sleep with song, and cut off its head with a sword made of iron,” Terence said. “The problem is that in twenty years, the victims are vulnerable to a Lethe’s Demon’s manipulations again, unless someone who knew what to look for and how to guard against it was there. The Lethe’s Demon will reappear, and only then can you rip its heart out and kill it permanently.”

Alarmed, Richie demanded, “So why can’t you just rip its heart out now?”

“Fae magic rules,” Terence replied sourly. “If we rip its heart now, we risk not being able to remember how to kill it in twenty years’ time. As it is, once we kill it, Duncan will forget any conversation we have about it if we mention its name.”

“Fuck.”

“And the Lethe’s Demon will bargain for its life, promise you everything, including things that are impossible,” Connor added. “And knowing you, you’ll want to exchange your life for my cousin’s. Don’t.”

“But–” Richie’s protest died unspoken as the two older immortals glared at him. He took a deep breath. “Fine. I won’t. But if there’s anything I can do otherwise, let me know.”

⚔️🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚

Connor convinced Duncan they needed to spar, since he ‘happened to be in town.’ Connor killed Duncan temporarily and used his death time to strap him to one of the support columns. Thus, Duncan became the lure.

After taking a deep breath, Richie called, “Camilla, come save your love or die.”

Cold air rushed in, heralding Camilla’s entrance as she materialized next to Duncan. She wore a black mesh dress with floral embroidery over what looked like a black-and-floral Brazilian-style one-piece swimsuit. Her raven hair hung loose. Seeing Duncan dead and strapped to the support column, she turned to Richie, her elven features furious. She moved towards him with her hands outstretched like claws.

“You’ll pay for this!” she cried.

Connor dropped the cage on her. It landed with an audible thud.

Furious, Camilla hissed at Connor and Richie. “Let me go and I will give you the love of your dreams,” she told Richie, suspecting correctly he was the weaker of the two. “A woman to love you and bear your children. They’ll be beautiful, immortal, and never want for food, shelter, or money.”

Connor had made Richie put in industrial-strength earplugs, so her words were muted. He still heard them, though; the earplugs gave him strength to ignore her.

“Sorry, what did you say? I can’t quite hear you,” Richie said cheerfully. Gauntlets and gloves covered his forearms and hands.

Camilla tried again. “I will give you riches and power. You will never want for anything. Just set me free. I promise to spare Duncan’s life if you give me yours.”

Forewarned, Richie looked at her as if he could not understand her.

Not getting the response she wanted, Camille turned to Connor. “You’ll have your beloved Heather again.”

Connor laughed shortly. “Not as the lass I knew. No, you’re a Lethe’s Demon, Camille. I name you and name you as the fae demon crossbreed you are.”

Naming her made Camille’s form change from a barely-dressed-for-public woman to a scantily clad fae with bat-like wings. The mesh of the dress changed to spiderweb lace; the swimsuit changed to a silken fabric that covered even less of what the high-cut swimsuit had covered. Her breasts increased in size, her waist got smaller, her hips widened, and her ass became even more of a bubble-butt. Her shoulders widened and her whole frame had become larger. The shift in body type betrayed the fact she had changed her appearance to suit Duncan’s preference for slender but curvy women. The tips of her wings had claws. Her skin looked like camel-colored suede. Her feet were cloven hooves. Even revealed for her true form, Camille was a beautiful creature.

Richie’s jaw dropped as Connor’s words revealed her true form. He swallowed hard, hating that he found her monstrously attractive.

Sensing his interest, Camille turned to him. “Oh, you like me better now you know what I really look like?” she asked silkily, leaning forward.

“Hell, no,” Richie said quickly.

“Liar. Your heart lies,” she said, crawling forward within the cage. “Spare my life and I will give you pleasure like you’ve never known. You’ll never have to play the Game, Richard.”

“My name is Richie,” he shot back, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought to hold his position. He could feel her magic reaching for him, could almost hear her in his head. Instinctively, he knew if he let her in, he would lose, and Connor and Terence were counting on him to do his part. He couldn’t let them down – and that, more than anything, gave him the strength to refuse.

“Richie, so much better,” Camille murmured seductively. “I can see into your heart, the dreams you have—“

“The answer’s no,” Richie cut her off. Seeing her hands were on the bars of the cage, he quickly grabbed them and shackled them to the cage.

Connor took the cue and did the same with Camille’s left arm. Like Richie, his hands and forearms were covered. She screamed as her flesh touched iron. They repeated the shackles with her ankles, thereby pressing her wings and back against the top of the cage.

Camille screamed. The sound was unholy and rattled through Richie like a supersonic jet. Connor pulled him back. Richie stumbled, only then realizing he had stepped closer to the cage and was two seconds away from undoing what he had just done.

Terence declared, “By the bells ringing three times,” and he struck a set of windchimes, “I clean out my friend’s heart. Clear out you evil spirit, evil spirit.” He then sang, “Oh fair folk, oh fair folk, release my friends and begone. Let them go.” He rang the windchimes again. “Let Duncan MacLeod go, leave Richie Ryan alone. By the bells ringing, let go, and begone, never to return.” He rang the windchimes a final time.

As Terence sang, Camilla screamed, trying to drown him out, but his voice carried. When the last chime sounded, Camilla froze in a death pose, still screaming.

Quickly, Richie and Terrance lifted the cage. Wanting to silence her scream, Richie stepped in and cut off her head. Grimacing, Richie dropped her head to the floor. Camille’s body sizzled into ashes.

“I will be back,” Camille growled. “You will be mine in twenty years’ time.”

Though Terence had warned him she might continue to talk, Richie was still horrified. As his stomach twisted in knots, Richie looked to Terence. Aware Terence and Connor had cautioned him not to say anything if she talked after he cut off her head, he silently pleaded with Terence to do something.

Calmly, Terence pulled out his flute and played a tune that sounded cheery and familiar, but Richie could not place what it was.

Camilla’s head exploded into a mass of maggots before the mass sank into the floor without a trace, taking the ashes with it.

Terence then pulled out a jug of holy water. He poured some of it on where Camilla had lain, then poured it over Richie’s sword and Connor’s hands, murmuring prayers in Latin as he did so. Connor added a few words in a language Richie did not recognize, but he felt the magic sizzle through him, cleaning the last of Camille’s enchantments.

“Better?” Connor asked.

Richie removed the plugs from his ears and swallowed. “Yeah. Need a drink after this.”

“I’ve water in the car, but let’s move this cage out of the way first,” Terence said, “and get Duncan down from that post. Surprised he hasn’t revived yet.”

Connor looked insulted. “I made sure he wouldn’t wake up and get in the way.” His tone said he would not say how. Richie decided he would not ask.

Richie and Terence moved the iron cage to a corner of the warehouse. They then helped Connor untie the still-unconscious Duncan from the support post.

“Go, you two. Mac won’t remember this,” Connor told him.

“What will you tell him?” Richie worried.

“That you decided not to help him with the dojo, and you’re headed south to race.”

Richie nodded, accepting the lie. To Terence, he said, “If that offer to learn from you is still open, I’ll take it. This just makes me think I have a lot to learn I’m to fight this in twenty years.”

“It is.” Terence shook Connor’s hand. “Good luck. I’ll call you when we’re settled.”

Connor nodded briefly. “Watch your heads.”

As they exited out of the warehouse, both men felt the distinctive warning of Duncan’s presence and heard Connor teasing him, “Up, cousin. No time for you to be playing possum. Can’t lose that easy.”

“Easy?!” Duncan protested. “And who else was here?”

“No one,” Connor replied as Terence shut the door softly so it wouldn’t echo behind them.

Richie took a deep breath. “What was that song you played on the flute?”

“Here We Go ‘Round the Mulberry Bush,” Terence told him. “It’s a cleaning song and a nursery rhyme. The more you clean, the more easily you banish fae.”

“Got it. Speaking of cleaning, I need a shower.”

“We’ll go back to the hotel. Do you need more clothes or have anything you want to keep?”

“My motorcycle would be nice.”

“We’ll do that after we check out; you can follow me down to my place in Portland.”

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

“Are you coming back to Seacouver?” Duncan asked hopefully two weeks later.

“Sorry, I promised Terrance I’d help Carolyn with some research she needs for her newest book,” Richie apologized as he used the phone in the living room of Terrance and Carolyn’s house. Grateful Duncan couldn’t see him, Richie tucked the receiver under his ear and zipped up his boots.

“When will you be back?”

“Not sure,” Richie said vaguely. “Could be a few weeks. Did you need me for something?”

“Do you not want to work for me?”

Richie swore silently, aware that Duncan had been counting on him to do that. “Sorry, Mac, but you’ll be better off hiring someone else. There’s a race down here in Portland I want to try for, too, so it’ll be at least a few weeks.”

Duncan sighed. “All right. Let me know if you need anything and watch your head.”

“You do the same, Mac.” Richie hung up and finished putting on his motorcycle gear.

Carolyn Marsh Coventry stepped forward and kissed Richie’s left cheek. “Thanks for all the motorcycle riding info. I promise to not write you as a scoundrel.”

Richie laughed. “If you do, make him a charming one who tries to do the right thing and is never evil or malicious.”

Carolyn smiled. “Deal.” She then hugged him hard. “Be careful.”

Presence rippled through Richie as Terence moved into the room. The former English lord hugged Richie. “Call us when you get to Sacramento. My student, Gabriella Seekamp, is expecting you. Tell her you’re looking for Indiana Smith the healer; she’ll know who you’re looking for.”

Richie nodded. Terence had taught him everything he could, but they had quickly discovered that while he could sing, he did not have the patience to learn a musical instrument. Terence’s solution was to send Richie to a friend of his student’s, who was also immortal, and who could teach Richie what Terence did not know about magic and defense against those who wielded it. Richie wanted to be prepared.

“Thanks for everything, both of you,” Richie said sincerely.

“You’re welcome,” Terence said, and followed him out to where he had parked his motorcycle. Carolyn stayed back, taking the silent cue.

Richie mounted his motorcycle and put on his helmet, but did not turn on the engine, suspecting Terence had more to say.

“Gabriella has a New Age shop and smokes a lot of pot,” Terence said bluntly. “Don’t let her get you hooked on that shit.”

Richie half-laughed. “I already know it makes me throw up, so it’s easy to say no to it.” At Terence’s startled look, Richie said, “I was living on the street before I met the MacLeods. Don’t worry, Terence. I won’t let your student distract me too much.”

“Indiana doesn’t trust telephones, else I’d send you directly to her,” Terence said. “But she’s a witch, and I don’t know who else would be able to teach you what she knows. If I knew where Matthew of Salisbury was, I’d send you to him; his teacher is the one who made the vambraces I gave you.”

Richie nodded. “I’ll be fine, Terence.”

“Then godspeed,” Terence told him.

Richie started the engine and turned towards the highway.

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

_December 2000_

“Connor, have you seen Richie?” Worried, Duncan paced his living room.

“No, but I talked to him. He’s in Dallas with Indiana.”

“With who?” Duncan frowned.

“Indiana Smith. She’s Australian,” Connor said. “Hates phones. Richie was calling from a phone booth in a Denny’s.”

“That still doesn’t tell me who she is.”

“Oh, you haven’t met her?”

“No, should I have?”

“Might’ve helped,” Connor muttered.

“Helped with what?”

Brightly, Connor said, “Camilla.”

What they were discussing evaporated in Duncan’s brain and he stared at the phone, not sure why he was on it. “Hello?”

“Duncan. You called me, remember?” Connor sounded concerned. “About Richie?”

“Richie?” Blinking, Duncan shook himself. “Have you talked to him?”

“Not recently, no. Did you have plans for Christmas? You should come to New York.”

Happy to oblige, Duncan made plans, but he had the vague sense they had been discussing something else entirely.

⚔️🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚

_February 2001_

“Mac!” Amanda kissed him thoroughly, stepping into the hug he offered. Seeing her in the lobby of Sanctuary, a Parisian nightclub, had made him remember when she had run a saloon in San Francisco. “What brings you into my club?”

“Heard a rumor you were here. How did you manage to find a club on holy ground?”

“Luck,” Amanda said breezily. “Come, sit with me.” She towed him towards a table with clear sightlines of the dance floor and the exits and signaled a server. In French, she ordered them drinks and an appetizer. “You look famished. Have you not been eating?”

“Been worried about Richie. I haven’t heard from him since Thanksgiving, when he called to wish me a happy holiday and tell me he wasn’t going to make it.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t be so worried,” Amanda told him. “You just missed him – he went off shift two hours ago.”

“Wait, I thought he was in Sacramento.”

“No, that was months ago,” Amanda said. “He flew in from Dallas on New Year’s; asked my partner for a job the next day. We hired him, of course.”

“Do you have his number?” Eagerly, Duncan pounced on the info.

“Don’t be silly,” Amanda admonished him. “You shouldn’t bother him; he worked a double shift today. Besides, he won’t be able to talk to you about Camille; you won’t remember anyway.” She turned to the server who delivered their drinks. “Thanks, darling.”

Duncan stared at the drinks as Amanda leaned in. “Are you here for the winter, Mac?”

Feeling as though he was missing part of the conversation, Duncan picked up the conversational thread, but he did not ask about Richie again. When he thought to ask again, Amanda assured him she did not know where he was.

As the months turned into years, Duncan found his former protégé had become a wanderer whose trips invariably involved other immortals, many of whom Duncan knew. Richie kept in touch with phone calls, somehow always knowing what number to call despite Duncan moving multiple times between Seacouver and Paris. That consistency gave Duncan hope that whatever Richie was looking for, he still considered Duncan a friend, and Seacouver home.


	4. Chapter 4

#### Sunday, February 23, 2020 [25 days until Spring Equinox]

“Thanks for everything you’ve spent the last two years teaching me,” Richie said, hugging the Celtic immortal as they stood outside her house in a suburb of Denver, Colorado. She wore only a heavy cardigan over a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and boots. Her attire was a sharp contrast to Richie’s ski-weight parka, thick gloves, and sneakers.

Richie held the black-haired, blue-eyed woman tight and found his embrace enthusiastically returned. Love and respect for her filled him. Though his twenty years of travels had introduced him to a wide range of immortals, Ceirdwyn was one of the oldest. In Richie’s mind, her blessing and crafting of the vambraces Terence had given him was key to his surviving his first attempt at killing Camille. That alone made her special. Discovering she was a pragmatic woman who would not hesitate to kick his ass if she thought he was slacking off, and who had no patience for anyone who did not respect her, had only added to Richie’s sense of awe.

Ceirdwyn stepped back. Worry for him filled her face. “You’re welcome anytime, Richie. Are you sure you don’t want me coming along? Defeating a Lethe’s Demon a second time usually goes better if you have help.”

“What, am I chopped liver?” Cory interjected, insulted. “I won’t be far away.” Cory jumped down from the bed of a black GMC Sierra pickup truck, where he had finished securing Richie’s BMW R1200GS motorcycle to the bed. Clad in a fur-lined denim-and-flannel jacket, he looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of some outdoor catalog.

Ceirdwyn gave the unrepentant thief a look that said she had known him far too long to take his word for granted.

Affronted, Cory demanded, “When have I failed on a promise I’ve made you, my lady? You’ve kicked my ass enough for me to learn not to break them where you’re concerned.”

“You only showed up a week ago because Matthew suggested you needed somewhere else to be,” Ceirdwyn reminded him. “And Matthew’s my student and your teacher. As much as I’ve tried to teach you, your greatest talents are charm and timing, not the kind of magic Richie is going to need.”

Cory glared at her. “He’ll also need a truck, welding equipment, a space to build a cage, and somewhere to do it all without raising suspicion. My cabin’s good enough for all that. Or is that not good enough?”

Richie glanced at Cory, who had not been part of his original plans. As grateful as he was for Cory’s unexpected arrival, Richie was aware Cory’s shared history with Ceirdwyn spanned seven centuries. This conversation, if left alone, would devolve into an argument over which promise Cory had broken when, and how dare Ceirdwyn doubt Cory’s commitment. Over the last two decades, Richie had learned Cory had a talent for showing up when he was least expected, causing chaos, and having a good time at other people’s expense. Despite this, Richie also had learned that when it mattered, Cory would deliver on his word. He had been instrumental in getting Richie connected to some of the Asian immortals who practiced non-Western means of magic, which had given Richie a better understanding of how the fae and magic worked.

Tactfully, Richie suggested, “Cory, we’d better secure the tarp and get going if we’re going to make it through the passes before the predicted snowstorm moves in.”

Taking the cue, Ceirdwyn picked up the tarp that would protect the motorcycle. With her aid, Cory and Richie were on their way twenty minutes later.

“What are you going to do when this is over?” Cory asked Richie when they stopped at a motel late that same day. They had stopped for Chinese takeout and beer for dinner. “You’ve spent twenty years meeting the magically inclined quarter of the immortal population, learning from everyone I know and then some.”

Richie considered the bottle of beer he held. “I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging. “Maybe take you up on that no-strings-attached affair you’ve been offering me since forever.” He grinned mischievously.

Cory barked a laugh. “You haven’t forgiven me that much,” he noted. “And given I can name a half-dozen mutual friends who’d be highly disappointed in my lack of honor for seducing you – and trust me, it’ll be my fault in their eyes – I’m not so sure it would be worth it.”

“Since when has someone else’s disappointment ever held you back?”

“Matthew’s usually does,” Cory admitted as he helped himself to the last of the pork fried rice they’d bought for dinner. “Some days I feel like he’s more my father than the man who raised me.” He studied Richie. “Is that why you’re doing this for Mackie boy?”

Richie shook his head. “Started out that way. Now, after everything I’ve learned, I’m doing this for me. I need to know this threat is gone, Cory.” He met the older immortal’s gaze. “The stakes for what will happen if I don’t kill Camilla a second, final time are too steep of a price. I’d rather not spend the rest of my life as her next meal slash entertainment – and she will draw it out as the penalty. I don’t want to wait until the next solstice to find out if someone’s rescued me. I might go mad in those three months.”

Cory grimaced at that. “Forgot that part. I know I did. Any chance she’ll attach herself to anyone else?”

“No. If we hadn’t killed her before, then it would be different.” Richie worried the label of the bottle. “Bad enough her last words to me marked me again. I didn’t know that was how the curse transferred to me. I just wish Terence and Connor were available.”

“Terence’s wife is getting older,” Cory pointed out, “and she’s had some medical issues. Makes a guy like Terence unwilling to leave. As for Connor – what’s his excuse? He usually shows up for his family.”

“I can’t get a hold of him,” Richie noted. “Kate Sutherland emailed me yesterday and confirmed that Connor’s Hudson Street property is for sale. I contacted her because she’s working in Manhattan as a security consultant. I also checked with Rachel MacLeod, and she said Connor isn’t in Glenfinnan. Rachel Ellenstein died five years ago; otherwise, I’d be checking with her. Wherever Connor is, it’s not where anyone expects him to be.”

“He’s not dead,” Cory asserted confidently. “We’d know it if he was – his Quickening’s too powerful not to go unnoticed. You checked with the Watchers?”

Richie nodded. “They assured me he’s not dead, either, but I’ll check with Mac. Unless you have better connections?”

Cory barked a laugh. “Not when you’ve already enlisted two of the people who’d know. I didn’t know about Rachel Ellenstein. She was every inch Connor’s daughter – never let me get away with anything.” He shook his head at the memory. “When’s the last time you talked with Connor?”

“Six months after his daughter’s death. I wanted to be sure he was doing okay. He was more worried about me going to Greece to find Kyra.”

“What was he worried about?” Cory looked at Richie, curious.

“That she wouldn’t be sane,” Richie admitted. “Kyra told me that the rumors of her time in a psychiatric hospital in Paris two decades ago have made her seem crazier than she was.”

“Happens,” Cory noted. “I don’t think I’ve ever met her. Who is she?”

“Originally from Sparta and a priestess of Artemis, she’s over two thousand years old. She’s spent her life as either a soldier or a bodyguard,” Richie said. “She spent several centuries protecting British royalty; picked up an English accent that won’t quit. She’s about my height, blonde, wide shouldered, curvy – gorgeous, actually. She’s very snarky and very much a feminist.”

Cory’s eyes widened. “Then I do know her. She caught me trying to sneak into a future queen’s bedchamber. She can do magic?”

“Enough to matter for what I need to do,” Richie replied. He studied the older immortal. “You sure you’re willing to help me with fighting Camilla? Kyra will be here the day before the Spring Equinox; she and I can manage it.”

“From what you and Ceirdwyn told me, you need a third person to help you get supplies and watch your backs,” Cory reminded him. “And I doubt seriously that Mac will snap out of whatever enchantment’s left on him in enough time to save himself, let alone you. Ceirdwyn and I argued about this in three languages last night.” Cory shook a finger at Richie. “You said it yourself – the stakes for failure are too big for you not to accept help. Ceirdwyn said she’ll come at the Spring Equinox, make sure you’ve prepared everything, but you’ll need me before then. I know what it’s like to be a Lethe’s Demon victim. Last thing I want is to see you become one.”

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “Feels like all I’ve been doing for the past twenty years has been trading favors. I feel like I owe everyone at this point.”

Cory rolled his eyes. “You don’t. Trust me on that one.”

Richie chuckled ruefully. “I know, but it doesn’t change that feeling. In case I haven’t already said this – thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to riding through the mountains this time of year on my motorcycle. Ceirdwyn wanted me to fly to Seacouver and promised to ship my motorcycle, but I don’t want to be without transportation in that city. Especially if I’m to get everything I need without Mac looking at what it is.”

Cory nodded acknowledgement and started cleaning up the remains of dinner. “What time did you want to get going in the morning?”

Richie glanced at his watch and finished his beer. “Six AM. That’ll get us on the road right around sunrise, unless you want to linger over breakfast.”

Cory shook his head. “No. We still have another full day of travel, and I’d rather not push the speed limit with your bike on the back. We’ll do breakfast at fast-food restaurant or a truck stop, whichever comes first.”

Richie nodded and put his beer bottle in the recycling bin. “I call dibs on the bathroom.”

“Go ahead; I’ll use it after you.”

⚔️🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚

The next day, they pulled into the driveway of Cory’s cabin, which was on the northwest side of Seacouver, fifteen miles outside the city limits in an unincorporated, heavily wooded area. The road to the cabin was a dirt road off a state highway, bumpy and unpaved. Cory swore as he navigated the road. They had stopped for groceries on the way.

“Knew I should’ve put down gravel last time I was here,” he muttered.

“Why didn’t you?” Now Richie understood why Cory had insisted on buying eggs in a Styrofoam container instead of a cardboard one; those had a better chance of surviving this road.

“Gave the money I had allocated for gravel away to the local domestic violence shelter after someone torched the building. Forgot how this road gets in the winter; all the rain and cold makes the potholes worse.”

Cory’s reallocation of his funds did not surprise Richie, but the road’s condition made him wince at the jolting, uneven path. Riding out of here would be a challenge. Fortunately, the road was only a half mile long.

Though both men were exhausted, they took the time to unload Richie’s motorcycle and put away the rigging, tarp, and straps that had held it in place. The rigging, tarp, and straps all went into the backseat of the truck. That task done, Cory looked at Richie.

“I know I promised to cook dinner before you left, but you should stay the night, too. You don’t want to show up at MacLeod’s exhausted. That’ll really get him worried about how you’ve been, and you don’t want his thousand and one questions when you’re not ready to answer them.”

Richie considered the time and his state of tiredness before he nodded reluctantly. From the narrow backseat of the truck, he retrieved a backpack and a duffel bag, which served as his luggage.

Cory patted Richie’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll look appropriately dusty and tired by the time you get to his house.” After retrieving his suitcase, he locked the pickup truck and walked to the door of the box-style log cabin.

“How long has it been since you lived here?”

“Last spring,” Cory said as he unlocked the door. He quickly stepped inside and reset the alarm. “Once I knew we were headed here, I had a house cleaner come in, so we shouldn’t have too many cobwebs.”

From the outside, Richie had expected a single-room cabin. Inside, however, revealed a cozy one-and-a-half story home with two bedrooms, each with their own ensuite bathroom, on the upper story. Too exhausted by the drive, since he had driven all but the last four hours, Richie sank gratefully onto the bed Cory showed him. He dragged himself out of bed long enough to shower, then called Duncan to let him know he was on his way and would be there the next morning.

⚔️🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚 _⚔️_ 🧚

_Wednesday, February 26, 2020_

The next morning, Cory cooked him breakfast over his protests it was too much food. It wasn’t until Richie was done that he realized Cory was right – he’d eaten everything on his plate.

Cory just laughed. “I know people,” he told Richie. “That’s how I survive.” He became serious. “I’ll be here, Richie.”

Richie met his gaze. “I appreciate it. I’ll need a truck for the cage and welding materials. Do you want help with the dishes?”

Cory shook his head. “It’ll give me something to do besides worry.”

“Aww, Cory, I didn’t know you cared that much,” Richie teased him.

“Don’t go spreading rumors like that,” Cory shot back, but his grin undermined his words. “Go, get yourself packed and dressed for the ride to Mac’s house. Supposed to rain, so you’ll want to layer up, stay warm. You got the address?”

“Yeah, it’s a new one – he moved again. I’ll text you the info so you have it.”

“Thanks.”

Taking his cue, Richie packed what little he had unpacked and put on his motorcycle gear, trading his ski parka for a black leather café-racer-style jacket with hidden armor and a large embroidered phoenix on the back. He layered a fleece hoodie underneath the leather jacket. He then donned his motorcycle boots before he put on black protective and insulated overpants. Cory followed him out to his motorcycle and helped him strap his luggage onto the pillion seat.

“I’ll text you,” Richie promised. “Thanks for the ride.”

Cory hugged him. “I’m betting on you, kid. Don’t let me down.”

Grinning, Richie mounted his motorcycle, put on his helmet, and rode to Duncan’s house. The day was clear but cold, making Richie glad that he was wearing layers. Halfway there, it rained, turning the dust on his motorcycle into mud and revealing that he had a hole somewhere along the hip of his protective pants.

Richie stopped a mile from Duncan’s house, using the excuse of needing to gas up his motorcycle to give himself a moment to breathe through the emotions surging through him. He was excited, nervous, and terrified of screwing up. Seeing his hands shake, he deliberately took measured breaths to calm himself before he reached for the nozzle of the gas pump.

 _I can do this,_ he told himself. _I’m not alone._

From a distance, he heard Camille laugh mockingly and shivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback always welcome! :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits have been made to previous chapters.

Thankful it was no longer raining, Richie slowed down as he approached Duncan’s house. Duncan’s strong immortal presence was like a beacon. For a moment, Richie fought the instinct to either fight or flee from such a strong immortal. He used the excuse of needing to park his motorcycle properly so it would not roll down the hill to give himself time to adjust.

From the way Duncan stood on the porch, his right hand down by his side and slightly hidden, Richie surmised the older immortal had no idea who he was and was reacting to a possible strange immortal. Richie turned off his motorcycle and dismounted before he took off his helmet, mindful of the hoodie he had stuffed under it to help insulate him against the cold February wind. He pushed his hoodie back and swore he could feel Duncan’s relief as a tangible wave.

With the ease of long practice, Richie threaded the helmet through a handlebar before unhooking a large duffel bag and a backpack from the pillion pad. The duffel bag had a shoulder strap, which he had stuffed into an exterior pocket. He took a moment to attach the shoulder strap, then balanced the bag across his body, before slinging his backpack over the other shoulder. He then picked up his helmet and jogged up the six steps to the porch.

“Hey, Mac,” he greeted. He set the backpack, helmet, and duffel bag down on the porch so he could open his arms for a hug.

Hastily, Duncan set his sword aside before he completed the hug, his hands meeting the stiff protection of the jacket’s backplate. “Welcome home, Richie. You’re earlier than I was expecting. When you called and said you were close, I wasn’t expecting you to be here until tomorrow.”

Richie grinned. “Stayed with a friend last night; figured midnight was a little too late to be knocking on your door.”

“I would have let you in,” Duncan objected to his assumption.

“Yeah, and fretted,” Richie countered. “Wasn’t in the mood for that last night. You remember how I get if you worry too much – liable to pick an argument and leave.”

Acknowledging that with a rueful nod, Duncan changed the subject. “That a new jacket?”

“Yeah, found a leather maker willing to do custom work to fit all the Kevlar pieces and a sword sheath and not ask questions. I had to double-check this address. Are you renovating this for someone, or did you finally decide you were sick of doing the live-above-your-workplace thing?” Richie picked up his bags and helmet.

Duncan grimaced as he opened the door and allowed Richie inside. “It’s mine. An arsonist hit; half the block, including my building, was set ablaze. I was with Joe that night – he was sick with pneumonia – but I lost a lot of things. Police investigator suggested I find a new location for work and a separate location for home, so I wouldn’t lose so much the next time.”

He shook his head at the memory as he slipped off the loafers he’d used to walk outside.

“How long ago was this? Was it a headhunter?”

“Last summer, and no, it was someone who claimed he heard voices that told him to set fires. It was easier to tear everything down and sell it empty than try to repair the damage.” He met Richie’s eyes. “Insurance called it a total loss. Figured I’d give myself time to think about what I wanted to do next, but meanwhile, I needed someplace to live. This house fit what I wanted.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Richie said sincerely.

“Set your boots and helmet by the door and I’ll give you the tour. How was Baltimore?”

“Good.” Richie hesitated a moment as he debated whether to reveal he hadn’t been in Baltimore in two years. After deciding he would not change the fiction he was heartbroken and in need of a fresh start, he dismissed the urge.

Duncan caught his hesitation. “Did something happen in Baltimore?”

“Like I told you on the phone – just got my heart broken.” He forced cheer into his voice, aware he had to convince Duncan of this story. Remembering how heartbroken he had been helped. He had enjoyed getting to know Matthew and learning from him about defense and strategy. Richie had been there a year and a half, long enough to have fallen in love with someone who had been genuine, caring, and passionate. While Richie had been certain Jordan would have accepted Richie’s secrets, the opportunity to study with Ceirdwyn had been the factor in his decision to leave. Richie had ended the relationship rather than tell Jordan about immortality, magic, and fae demons. It had hurt to walk away, even knowing he had good reasons. “Jordan didn’t understand why I was bartending instead of working a ‘real job.’ After a while, I gave up trying, but….” He spread his hands. “You know how much I love talking to people.”

Richie watched as Duncan’s expression changed to empathy and mentally sighed in relief.

“I’m sorry, Richie. You know what you’re good at and you enjoy it. You said you were staying with Matthew McCormick? How did you meet him? You were on the road the last time he was in Seacouver.”

“Yeah, he rented his guest room to me. Carl Robinson sent me his way after I ran into him in the Virgin Islands.”

“Wait, what – you know Carl, too?”

Richie grinned. “I know many people,” he said lightly, unwilling to discuss just how many mutual friends they now had in common. “Carl told me you and Matthew conspired to help him hide how he died inconveniently. Matthew said to tell you hello and just because we have advanced technology to make videoconferencing feel more like you’re in the room with the other person does not mean you cannot call and talk. He said I shouldn’t be your go-between.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed at the redirect. “Did you tell him I’ve been busy, and I don’t have his current number?”

“I told him I make no excuses for you, same way he wouldn’t for his teacher, and he laughed. As for his current number – I can text you it as soon as I’m a little more settled.”

Richie took advantage of the entryway bench to undo his protective overpants, folding the pants over so they made a small bundle on the seat, and ditch his boots. He unzipped his jacket but left it on, unwilling to abandon his sword. The jeans he wore under the overpants revealed at some point mud had seeped through, staining his left thigh.

Once Richie was ready, Duncan led him on a tour of the house, which was about 2,000 square feet spread across two stories. The foyer led into an open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen on the first floor. A combination pantry, laundry room, and mudroom off the kitchen led to an attached garage. A small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower was squeezed between the foyer and the living room. Like Duncan’s earlier homes, the furniture was a mix of traditional wood and leather, with modern art mingling with Japanese and Scottish accents. Richie was relieved to see that one of his favorite small pieces by Tessa, a pair of interlocking hearts, still held a place of honor in the living room.

The stairs were between the bathroom and the dining area. The second floor had two bedrooms and an open space, which held shelves full of books and knickknacks. At Richie’s inquiring look, Duncan explained, “I use it for workouts; it’s big enough for one person. I have a membership to a fencing salle; if you want to join, I can sponsor you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Richie hedged, unwilling to admit he had no desire to join a fencing salle. He was not afraid to spar against Duncan as much as he was unwilling to reveal how tutelage under other immortals had sharpened his swordsmanship and his talents as a magic user. For the moment, playing the ‘you almost killed me’ card served a purpose. Richie needed Duncan to believe he was no better than he was twenty years ago. Doing so strengthened Richie’s alibi of needing to come back, take Mac up on that old offer of advanced training, and start fresh.

Guilt flashed across Duncan’s face at the reminder before his lips tightened and he nodded understanding.

The guest bedroom had an ensuite bathroom. The room was longer than it was wide, so the bed sat at a ninety-degree angle from the doorway. A simple white oak headboard adorned what looked like a queen-size bed. The bed was covered in a vibrant, block print quilt and flanked by a pair of nightstands that matched the headboard. A four-drawer dresser occupied the space between the right nightstand and the closet. A large picture window looked out onto the side yard. To the left of the window was the entry into the bathroom, which was just big enough for one person.

“Appreciate you letting me crash with you again,” Richie said as he set down his duffel bag in the guest bedroom.

“Not a problem. You’ve always had a home with me. I know the East Coast can get insane with headhunters looking to increase their chances of getting at Connor. I don’t know how busy Baltimore is, but I imagine if Matthew’s been out there a while, he gets his share.”

Richie met his teacher’s gaze, and Duncan saw hard-won knowledge and experience reflected at him. “It wasn’t as bad as those first four years with you, when it felt like you had someone after you every week.”

Duncan winced at that memory. “Yeah, that was not fun.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Richie. I thought I could handle anything. I never thought the Game would get so intense that I risked overloading on Quickenings or that a Dark Quickening was real.”

“If you’re thinking that’s why I’ve always been a phone call away for the last twenty years, Mac, you’re wrong. You and I had a fight over a woman, and you don’t remember it. I’m not angry, Mac. I just didn’t want to keep rehashing something that was over a long time ago.” He gripped Mac’s forearm reassuringly.

Duncan looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but Richie met his gaze.

“You won’t remember anything about Camille until you’re ready anyway,” Richie said.

Duncan blinked, not remembering what they had been talking about. Richie recognized the look of temporary amnesia. Part of him had hoped Camille’s spell had been broken. This just confirmed that had not happened. Richie let go of that pipe dream and focused on the present.

He smiled and said, “Hey, I forgave you a long time ago, Mac.”

Duncan breathed in deeply and nodded to cover the fact he didn’t remember what they had been discussing. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Richie stripped off his coat, removed his sword, and laid both on the bed. He wore a t-shirt that advertised a New York craft beer brand and light blue jeans. Duncan noted that the sword Richie carried was not a rapier, but a flat-hilt, ornamented broadsword, and wondered where he’d got it; it was not anything Mac remembered giving him.

“Nice sword,” Mac noted. “Did you lose another sword?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. Plus, I wanted something that would sit flat against my back and survive a long road trip on a motorcycle.” Richie flashed him a smile.

Duncan blinked. “What happened? The bike you’re riding now isn’t the same as what I remember you had.”

“I haven’t had that bike or the rapier you gave me since someone crashed into me back in ‘05. Drunk driver.” He grimaced at the memory, shuddering. “That was not fun. They lock morgue drawers now. I had to pick my way out.”

“Was there no one to help you out?”

Richie shook his head. “I was on my way to see a friend down in Miami; died in Tampa. Thank God I was carrying a fake ID, and they’d checked me under that name and didn’t look further.”

“I’m sorry, Richie. I don’t remember you mentioned it.”

Richie’s mouth tightened. “I didn’t. I called Connor, since I figured he was closer. He brought me this sword and bought me the bike I have now. He said not to worry you, so I didn’t.”

“I thought you weren’t inclined to ask him for anything after the way he intimidated you after Tessa died.”

“I figured it was call someone on the same coast or try stealing another sword. Given my luck, I figured doing the latter would go horribly wrong.” Richie shrugged. “Anyway, that’s old news. Are you involved with anyone?”

Duncan answered, “Her name’s Wendy Rivera. She’s a mechanical engineer for a small company downtown. We met at a charity event for the Greater Seacouver Food Bank.” He chuckled, remembering. “We were packing fruit for distribution to the other food banks in the metro area and she was having problems reaching for the boxes because she’s only five-foot-one and everything was out of reach for her.”

Richie whistled softly. “That’s what, nine inches shorter than you?”

Duncan nodded. “Been a long time since I’ve dated someone that short. It’s been interesting. She has so much confidence and vibrancy, I forget about her height.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“Two months. I met her about three months after I moved in here. She doesn’t know about immortals yet.” Not wanting to jinx the peace of the last several months, Duncan didn’t mention it, though he suspected the Game was going on – just not where he was – and that Richie had seen more of it than he had. “Have you dated anyone enough to tell them?”

Richie made a face. “Yeah. My last lover – I was this close to telling them–” he measured a tiny distance with his fingers “– but I had an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. Does breaking your heart get any easier?”

Duncan barked a rueful laugh. “No.” He studied Richie a moment. “Was the opportunity worth it?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t ease the whole ‘that’s one person I can’t go back to without a lot of explanations and apologies’ thing. I saw what you went through with Anne.” Richie hesitated before asking, “What did you tell Wendy about me?”

“That you were my ward for a few months, that you’ve been living in Baltimore with a mutual friend, and you’ve come home since your last relationship didn’t work out.”

“That works. Thanks for letting me come back. Man, I missed this city.” He spread his arms wide and smiled. “No place like it in the world. So, when do I meet Wendy?”

“Friday night, if you’re up to it. Figured you’d want a few days to get settled in, familiarize yourself with where everything is, and get a dress shirt and a jacket so you can meet us at The City Grill at 7:30 pm.” Duncan smiled briefly. “Unless you don’t already have either.”

Richie fished out both articles of clothing from his duffel bag. “Needs pressing and a spin through the wash,” he admitted. “I’ve lost count of how often I’ve had to go meet someone in a nice restaurant or go on an unexpected interview.”

Impressed, remembering when the younger man would not have been so prepared, Duncan noted, “Guess that’s why that bag is so big.”

Richie grinned. “Yeah. Amanda took one look at my bag about ten years ago and said I needed new clothes – stuff that would work better for traveling a lot without being boring or outdated. She and Nick ganged up on me and wouldn’t let me go without making sure I had stuff to wear.”

“Nick?”

“Nick Wolfe, her business partner in Sanctuary. I take she hasn’t mentioned him?”

“No.” Duncan frowned. “Though it would explain why she keeps telling me she’s not a thief.”

“Not for the last two decades, no,” Richie explained. “Amanda adores Nick and vice versa. It’s cute.”

“Are they together?”

Richie shook his head. “Not anymore. Nick told me that as much as he loves her, he gets possessive about his lovers, and that doesn’t work with her. He’s been seeing someone who works for one of the liquor distributors.”

“Have you met her?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I was in Paris five years ago; I like her. Nick texts me pictures of them together around the city; they’re a ridiculously photogenic couple. I expect wedding bells this summer, given how they’ve been going.” He paused. “I know you mentioned you wanted to celebrate my return with lunch at the café up the street. Mind if I shower some of this road dust and mud off me?”

Duncan shook his head. “No. Dress at the café is casual. I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready. Should be hangers in the closet, too, and there are hooks on the back of the door for your coat if you don’t want to put it in the coat closet downstairs.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

When Duncan had shut the door behind him, Richie let out the breath he had been holding. He had feared Duncan would press him on his reasons for returning. Seacouver had been a city he had avoided for twenty years, save for a brief six months when he had risked returning. He had needed the comfort of a familiar city and Joe’s reassurance he wasn’t crazy. That trip had revealed the reason why staying away from Seacouver had been an excellent idea. What Terence had not known at the time he had cleansed Richie of Camille’s marks was that her final promise marked Richie again, leaving him vulnerable to hearing her if he stayed in Seacouver or anywhere near Duncan. The closer the anniversary of Camille’s death became, the stronger she became. The Spring Equinox would give her enough power to manifest one more time – and if Richie did not kill Camilla then, he would be hers forever. His only chance of escaping would be that if someone wanted to rescue him, they could do so at the next solstice, when the door to kill Camilla would be open again. That plan assumed he was still alive. Everything Richie had learned said his chance at surviving until the next solstice was slim.

Richie pulled his phone out of his jacket as he hung it up on the hooks on the inside of the bedroom door. Unlocking the screen, he sent Mac Matthew’s current number, then sent a text to Ceirdwyn and Cory, telling them he had arrived safely. He had no intention of telling Duncan he had spent the winter in Colorado with Ceirdwyn. As he had for the past twenty years, Richie believed the less he said about what he was doing with whom, the less Duncan would suspect he had been preparing for a battle against a demon fae. Keeping Duncan in the dark had become a habit. Richie had realized that talking about Camille to Duncan, and why he was not coming back to Seacouver until he was prepared to fight her, resulted in Duncan not remembering what they had been discussing.

Richie then set up his temporary wards, putting a horseshoe over the doorknob to the bedroom and then over the doorknob to the bathroom. It would not stop a determined fae, but it served as warning.

Bowing his head, he prayed, “Dear Universe, please bless my new home with all that is good and light,” willing the Divine to hear him. “I remain your humble servant.”

He waited a respectful moment before lifting his head. He had learned the Divine did not always answer right away, the way it had for Terence in the Seton Catholic Church so many years before. Comfortable with the lack of reply, Richie moved forward with what he had to do to get ready for lunch.

Twenty minutes later, Richie had showered, shaved, and changed. He now wore a t-shirt advertising a charity cookoff in which he had taken part, jeans, and socks. From his duffel bag, he pulled out a pair of sneakers. After putting them on, he slid his sword into its crossbody back sheath in the leather jacket, fished his wallet out from the pair of jeans he’d worn and stuck it into the pocket of the jeans he now wore, and then headed downstairs.

He found Duncan in the living room, reading a book. The familiar sight made Richie smile. For a moment, Richie felt the pang of missed opportunity – how many times had he thought about wanting to talk to Duncan about what he was reading? Richie would not trade the years he had spent learning from other immortals, though, and pushed aside the regret.

Duncan put a bookmark in the book, set it down on the coffee table, and rose to get his trench coat out of the coat closet next to the entryway bench. He put a pair of sneakers, checked his coat pockets for his keys, put on his coat, then slid his katana into the coat.

The café turned out to be six blocks away. The house Duncan had bought was in one of the original neighborhoods of Seacouver and was northeast of downtown. Richie had always loved this neighborhood; it was a decent area, with single-family homes, a sprinkling of low-rise condo/apartment buildings, and a central business area with a grocery store, a pharmacy, and other light retail. Richie had good memories of the foster home he’d stayed in through the first part of elementary school and had thought the family would adopt him. He still didn’t know why, at nine years old, CPS had pulled him out of that home and placed elsewhere. He shook off the memories of how that had set him on a path of foster home after foster home, broken promises, abuse, and neglect, until he had tired of it all and run away.

“Problem?” Duncan asked as he held open the door to the café.

“No, just trying to remember the address where I lived when I was here,” Richie hedged and stepped inside the café.

Duncan chuckled and followed him inside. “I’m surprised you remember any of them.”

“Some aren’t worth remembering,” Richie agreed, and turned to the hostess. “Two for lunch.”

The hostess smiled at them and took two menus from the stand. “Right this way.”

Once they were seated, Richie looked around. He had not spent all his time the last twenty years trading favors and learning magic. Years of working as a cook and as a bartender had given him an insider’s perspective of eating in restaurants. The restaurant looked clean, well lit, and that the number of servers did not seem inadequate for the number of occupied tables. Though it was three-quarters full, no one radiated a stressed-out air; and the kitchen, while visible to the patrons, appeared to handle the crush of orders fine. In addition, the simple décor and furnishings echoed the restaurant’s local-favorites-themed menu, which meant burgers, salads, and Asian-inspired rice bowls.

“Good enough?” Duncan asked, noting his survey, amused.

“I’ll reserve my final judgment after I’ve eaten, but I like what I see so far.” Richie smiled. “You said you were teaching four history classes at the university this semester?”

Duncan nodded. “I’m still looking for a place to open another dojo, but everywhere I want to open, the rent’s too much.”

Richie frowned. “How long ago did you close DeSalvo’s?”

“That was… ‘04? Building was torn down for condos about six years ago,” Duncan replied.

“Good afternoon, I’m Tiffany, and I’ll be your server today,” the perky brunette who was their server greeted before Duncan elaborate. “Can I get you two drinks?”

“Thai iced coffee for me,” Richie replied.

“The same,” Duncan said. He glanced at Richie. “Did you want to order? Your text said you ate breakfast at 5 AM.”

Tiffany paused, pad at the ready.

“Yeah, can I get the Szechuan edamame, not as an appetizer but as a side dish, and the Malaysian curry rice bowl, three stars?” Richie asked.

“And for you, sir?” Tiffany prompted Duncan.

“I’ll take the Thai green curry chicken salad,” he said. “Two stars, please.”

“I’ll get that in for you and return with your drinks,” Tiffany promised.

Richie raised an eyebrow as the server walked away. “Thought you liked your spicy food.”

“I do, but this place is generous with their heat.”

Richie grinned. “Cory dared me to a hot wings eating contest, just like a show on YouTube.”

“Who won?”

Richie laughed. “We both surrendered after about the fifth bottle. Matthew was laughing so hard.”

“Wait – Cory was in Baltimore? And not getting into trouble?”

Richie hesitated, letting Tiffany deliver their drinks and then leave, before answering. “Not sure if you knew this, Mac, but he and Matthew go way back, as in: Matthew taught Cory. They have a standing agreement about what kind of trouble Cory can get into when he’s in the same area as Matthew.”

Startled by that news, Duncan sat back in his chair. “Huh. I didn’t know they knew each other. I thought you didn’t like Cory.”

“I didn’t – but he apologized for taking Amanda’s word at face value.” Richie hesitated again before adding, “He was in the right place at the right time to help me and shocked me by doing so.”

“He does that sometimes,” Duncan agreed. “It’s one of the many reasons he can be so annoying, because you know he can do good but chooses instead to be chaos.” He studied Richie. “I suspected you two would get along too well.”

“Is that why you riled me up about him?”

Duncan winced. “Sorry?”

Richie chuckled. “No, it’s good. Meant we had to clear the air about assumptions before we could talk.”

“Was he in Baltimore long?”

Richie shook his head. “No. He stayed for Christmas week and then left.” Honesty made Richie admit, “We’ve been friends since he helped me in Istanbul in 2004. Amanda forgot to mention the contacts she had there were both out of date and tracking down who could help me got me into trouble. Cory wound up rescuing me. He could either rescue me or blow the deal he was conducting, and he did both.” Wryly, Richie added, “He shot me dead, then arranged to ‘bury’ me.”

“Sounds like something he’d do.” Duncan shook his head. “Seems like every time I’ve talked to you, you’ve been traveling a lot. I’ve missed you.”

“Wanted to see the world,” Richie admitted. “And I can get a job tending bar or being a line cook anywhere.” He took a breath. “But I wanted to stop living out of a backpack and a duffel bag for a while. Between that and having to walk away from someone because I didn’t want to let them know about my secrets, like what we are….” Richie spread his hands.

Duncan winced. “I’m sorry. Do you think they could have handled it?”

Richie shook his head. “I’m sure Jordan could have, but they also wanted a happily ever-after I couldn’t see providing. I’m not ready to settle down with someone.” He grimaced at the memory. “Telling them that sucked. Matthew took one look at me when I came back from that date and asked what would make it better.”

Duncan looked at him, understanding. “I’m glad he was there for you.”

“Have you heard from Connor?”

“He said he was looking for someone, but he’d be in touch. That was a few weeks ago. Why?”

Not wanting to alarm Duncan, Richie shook his head. “Just curious. Last time I talked to him was after Rachel’s funeral.”

Grief touched Duncan’s face. “He really appreciated the flowers you sent.” Duncan drew a breath. “I miss being able to talk to her. She knew Connor better than anyone.”

Richie nodded; he had gotten to know Rachel, though not to the degree Duncan had. “On a brighter note, what’s stopping you from opening a new dojo besides rent?”

Duncan shrugged. “Figured I’d wait until this semester was over so I could devote the right time to it. I didn’t think I’d be teaching this much, but the other professor went on maternity leave earlier than expected, so the only day I’m not teaching during the work week is Wednesday. Do you know where you’d like to work?”

Richie nodded. “Figured if I arrived today, that would give me the weekend to do laundry, and scope out what’s different about the city and where the hot nightclubs are and so forth.”

Tiffany delivered their entrees. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked politely.

“No, thanks,” Duncan said, after glancing at Richie. He tasted his dish and watched Richie do the same.

“Okay, that’s about what I wanted,” Richie said, digging into his meal with gusto.

Duncan chuckled. “I assume you’re staying with me until you have enough saved for an apartment. You’re welcome to stay longer.”

Richie considered. “I might take you up on that. I have money saved, but it’s taken a few hits lately.”

At that, Duncan frowned. “How come?”

“New tires for my motorcycle, a new phone, and new gear,” Richie replied with a shrug. “I finally broke down and got the same phone case as Connor has; it’s more drop-proof.”

Duncan nodded. “I sometimes miss having a phone at home, expecting any calls you’d make would either be from your office or your home.”

“Or a pay phone booth,” Richie exclaimed. “They all just disappeared. Bet you didn’t realize just how much you relied on that.”

Duncan groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’ve always been an early adopter of technology, but I’ve had to cut back on what I’m willing to get to stay connected with people. Not everyone has embraced video calling.” That led to a conversation about places Richie had been that weren’t as Internet connected as he’d expected.

As their meals were cleared, Duncan asked, “What do you want to do the rest of the afternoon? I don’t have classes on Wednesday, so I’m available.”

“Figured I’d start laundry and take a nap. The only reason I ate breakfast so early was because Denny’s was open and right there. I wasn’t sure if I’d find anything worth eating between where I was and here.”

Duncan chuckled. “Well, we can head home and figure out if I missed stocking up on anything. You can borrow my car for grocery shopping if you think it will be too much to walk home.”

“Appreciate it, Mac.”

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

Once they were back in his apartment, Duncan watched his former protégé head upstairs and pressed his lips tight, not liking the way Richie looked. The last time Duncan remembered seeing Richie this muscular and lean, with a hard edge, it had been when Haresh Clay had been hunting Richie. Yet there was a calm centeredness to Richie that had not been present then, and it made Duncan wonder and worry. What had Richie been doing the last two decades? He had a deeper resonance to his immortal presence that came with hard-won experience. Had a challenge caused him to reevaluate his relationship with Jordan?

He was not surprised to know Richie was bisexual; Richie had told him and Tessa that, early on, in a half-challenging way. Duncan had surmised Richie had expected to be thrown out for his sexuality. When Duncan had responded with a calm, “That still means no guests without permission,” Richie had been surprised. Whoever Jordan had been, they had been important. Richie never mentioned names otherwise. Walking away from a lover rather than tell them about immortality was difficult; Duncan had done so enough times to know it as a familiar ache that never got easier.

With a sigh, Duncan told himself to be patient. In the past, Richie had eventually told him what was going on, once he had rested and eaten and felt safe. As long as no one was hunting Richie – and Duncan doubted Richie would take refuge with him without telling him he was in trouble right away – Duncan could only wait. He didn’t have Matthew’s current phone number, and a conversation with him would have to wait until Richie was out of earshot.

Yet the sense that trouble had arrived would not leave Duncan.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite traditions is posting a chapter or a fic on or close to my birthday. Here's this year's gift to you - hope you like this one!  
> Thanks to N. for the beta read.

#### Saturday, February 29, 2020 – 19 Days until the Spring Equinox

As he stood in the kitchen, Richie felt the warning of another immortal approaching. The sound of Duncan's SUV echoed through the now-opened garage. Unwilling to burn his breakfast, Richie calculated he had enough time to plate his omelet. The other immortal’s footsteps echoed through the garage and mudroom/pantry. As the door between the mudroom/pantry opened, Richie reached for his sword, which he’d propped against the counter, within reach of the stove. Seeing Duncan, he set his sword back in place.

Wearing last night’s clothes, Duncan stepped into the kitchen. Richie had deliberately chosen to take the bus home, figuring his former teacher wanted to spend the night with Wendy. Richie had left shortly after dessert, claiming he had received a text from a friend wanting to see him.

“Morning,” Mac greeted. “Did you make any coffee?”

“When haven’t I wanted coffee as soon as I woke up?” Richie joked. He breathed through the adrenaline spike caused by another immortal’s presence and forced himself to calm. The bread he’d set in the toaster popped up, jarring his composure further. Swearing mentally, he set aside his sword, then snagged the toast and added it to his plate.

“Let me pour you another cup then.” He joined Richie at the table a moment later, setting down both cups of coffee.

“I could make you something,” Richie offered.

“Ate with Wendy,” Duncan refused. “You were deflecting most of her questions last night. She’s convinced you’re a rudderless twenty-something. She asked me why I wasn’t pushing you to do something more with your life.”

Richie ate part of his breakfast before responding. “Why are you bothered by that? I figured I’d let her think I’m twenty-five or something. Then she wouldn’t ponder why I’m living with you instead of living on my own.”

Duncan sighed. “You surprised me. You used to advocate for telling the truth.”

“I also used to be exactly the age I look,” Richie replied flatly, “and now I’m not. You’ll forgive me if I’ve found it easier if I let other people make assumptions so I’m not outright lying to them.” He studied the older man. “You’re thinking about telling her about immortality.”

Duncan nodded. “You here reminded me that the last time I was with someone, the headhunters came looking for me, and forced me into revealing what I am. I’d rather not wait until then. Wendy isn’t like Anne, with an oath to protect and save lives.”

Richie studied him a moment. “Do you think Wendy can handle it?”

“She might, but I was hoping for your opinion, based on what you saw last night.”

Shrugging, Richie said, “Wendy could go either way. The things she said make me think she’s someone who takes that whole ‘the company you keep says a lot about you’ to heart. You know how people judge me because I was a thief as a teenager, without knowing why I was one. Or how you don’t have a problem with people who, while they have a good heart and will do the right things, have little use for laws and regulations. That could be a problem down the line. Have you asked her what she thinks of capital punishment and her stance on crime?”

Duncan grimaced. “I did, but you’re seeing something I’m not.”

“I’m not blinded by all that new relationship energy and passion,” Richie pointed out. He sipped his coffee. “You prefer your girlfriends accept everything you tell them without question. Most women now will question everything.”

“So I’m learning,” Duncan agreed wryly. “I thought it was Anne.”

“No. Angie reminded me she’s used to having to shout to have her voice heard because she’s a woman. Wendy’s younger than Angie or me, and she’s working in a profession that rewards inquisitive people. If you’re not careful, Mac, Wendy will figure out you’re hiding something and think the worst. Her assessment of me as a rudderless twenty-something says she thinks I’m one of those Gen Z kids, back to suck your attention and money away.”

Realization dawned on Duncan’s face. “That explains why Wendy was so worried about you.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. I fake being part of Gen Z because of the way I look, and it’s exhausting. I’m not that into social media so I don’t feel the need to check it eighty-eight times a day. I don’t feel entitled about anything. As long as I have my sword, enough clothes not to be naked, my motorcycle and gear, and enough money to ensure I’m not starving and sleeping in alleys again, I'm happy. Matthew had to show me how to use my phone to pay at a register – I had no idea that was a thing, and then I felt so stupid.”

Duncan chuckled. “Keeping up with the changes is one of the harder parts of living,” he agreed.

“Tell me about it.” He met Duncan’s gaze. “But back to whether Wendy can handle the news of immortality – you know her better than me.”

Duncan nodded. “I’ll talk to her more, figure out where she stands on a few issues. If she really can’t stand the thought of you being back under my roof, then that’s a problem in my book. You’ll always will be welcome in my house. The sooner she accepts that, the better we’ll be.” He sighed heavily and changed the subject.

“I forgot to ask you – how’s Angie doing?”

“She yelled at me for not taking her with me to Greece but thanked me for sending her the handwoven fabric I found there,” Richie said, amused. “She’s divorced now. She's still running that alterations and custom tailoring shop down by the waterfront. She asked when she’d see you. I told her I’d pass on the message.”

“I’ll stop by,” Duncan assured him. “She’s handled knowing about immortality well.”

Richie nodded. “She’s become my oldest friend. I don’t know what I’ll do without her in my life.” He finished eating and cleaned up his mess. “Do you love Wendy?”

Duncan offered him a wry smile. “I thought I was.” He met Richie’s gaze. “You don’t seem convinced.”

Richie chose his words carefully. “You’re fond of her. Could turn into love if you wanted it to.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “But?”

“Mac, I’ve seen you in love. What I saw last night at dinner wasn’t that.” Richie hesitated before adding, “If you don’t mind me saying, you were more interested in convincing Wendy everything was fine so you could take her home and get laid. Sorry, but I’ve seen that look on one too many patrons in bars across the world.”

Duncan considered that a moment before sighing. “You know me, I live in hope and think if I give something enough time and effort, it’ll turn into what I want.”

“Work on letting her in more,” Richie suggested. “Love at first sight can be overrated. Besides, you want someone who’ll stand with you, not run away in fear. At the least, you want someone who won’t ask you a million questions why you have friends randomly showing up, especially friends you haven’t mentioned before.” He gestured, underscoring his words. “I mean, a few questions is fine, but Wendy was grilling me like she was a lawyer and not an engineer. I’m surprised she didn’t ask you if you had some secret affair years ago.” 

Chuckling wryly, Duncan replied, “She did, on the way to her apartment. I told her no, you were already seventeen when I became your legal guardian.”

“Did she believe you?”

He pursued his lips. “Not sure.”

In that moment, Richie knew whatever relationship Duncan had with Wendy would not be a long-term one. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“For what? For pointing out what I already knew but didn’t want to admit?” Duncan shook his head. “It’s too easy for me to get into a rut. Joe was asking me when I’d tell Wendy my secrets and I avoided answering him.”

“Don’t break up with her on my account.” Silently, Richie thought, _It’ll be better if you don’t; Camille can’t tempt you as much then._ “I’d rather see you happily fond of Wendy than miserable.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Duncan replied. “Just needed someone else to point out a few things, like how I need to ask Wendy more questions. Enough about my love life. Did you have plans for the rest of the day? I thought if you were up to it, we could go over to my warehouse and spar for a while.”

Aware he needed to spar against Duncan at least once, if only to please the older immortal, Richie said, “Sure. Let me put on something I don’t care about.”

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

Forty minutes later, Duncan unlocked the door to his warehouse and turned on the lights. Two-thirds of the space was dedicated to custom, temperature-controlled storage behind a locked garage door. The other half was open. The open space had a metal coat tree, a first-aid kit, and two padded folding chairs.

“Do you want the heat on or off?” he asked Richie.

“On – let’s not make this a training session where we’re matching what it feels like outside.” He flashed a grin. “I’m already feeling cold with this heavy rain we’re having. Makes me glad we took your SUV.”

Duncan returned the grin and pressed the button on the thermostat control to activate the heat on the non-occupied side. “I don’t mind rain, but we’ve been having wetter, colder winters here the last several years. The Thunderbird’s on the other side of this wall, in case you were wondering, along with some of my possessions.”

“I was. This isn’t the same warehouse you had before,” Richie commented. “Amanda mentioned you had shipped some things from Paris.”

“No, that whole block was redeveloped, so I sold it, and consolidated things. I realized I wasn’t going back to Paris as often and much of what I had there wasn’t usable anymore, so I sold or donated a lot,” Duncan remarked as he hung his coat on the coat tree and pulled out his sword. He then stepped aside so Richie could hang up his coat.

Richie wore a fleece hoodie that looked like grease had permanently stained it, jeans, and sneakers. Duncan had opted to change into one of his old long-sleeve shirts. He too, wore jeans and sneakers.

Richie moved to a ready position, as did Duncan.

“All right, come at me,” Duncan invited.

Expecting Richie to fight like he used to, Duncan was not prepared for how much faster and more decisive Richie was in his movements. It caught him off-guard. He switched tactics, wanting to see how Richie reacted to certain attacks. To his surprise and pleasure, Richie fought with a surety of action Duncan could not remember his former student having.

Then Richie executed an attack Duncan could not remember ever teaching him. Duncan parried it, but it forced him backward and left him at a disadvantage. Rather than take the obvious, desperate parry, Duncan disengaged his sword entirely and stepped out of range so he could set himself up for a better counterstrike. Breathing hard, Duncan eyed his opponent warily. “Where did you learn that one?”

“Here and there,” Richie evaded. “Didn’t spend all my time bartending and chasing pretty people, Mac.”

“I can tell,” Duncan said. “Let me ask you this, then – who have you been studying with?”

Richie froze, and his face shuttered. “Does it matter who?”

Duncan studied the younger immortal, feeling a sudden gulf of distance between them. “You don’t need me to train you, Richie. You’re already better than I remember.”

Richie relaxed marginally. “Well, maybe I just needed to hear it from you,” he said lightly, but the guarded look didn’t completely leave his eyes.

Hating that Richie was reacting that way, Duncan assured him, “I’m not jealous or upset you learned from other people. It’s been twenty years, Richie. I’m more surprised by what you’ve learned; that’s all.”

Richie barked a laugh. “Yeah, well, I wanted you to be proud of me.”

Duncan stepped closer and, mindful of their swords, hugged him. “Always, Richie.” He stepped back and was pleased to see that the move and his words had an effect.

“Can I show you this cool move Matthew showed me?” Richie asked.

“Sure.”

They sparred another half hour before Richie’s cell phone rang. Breaking off, Richie apologized and went to answer it.

Duncan stood a respectful distance away, but he could still hear Richie’s end of the conversation.

“Hey,” Richie greeted. “No, I’m with Mac. Yeah, we’re still on. Let’s see, it’s one now, so one-thirty? And can you pick me up? It’s raining too hard to ride.” He listened a moment before retorting, “It’s called being unwilling to get soaked, not getting soft. Uh huh, sure.” He disconnected the call before turning back to Duncan.

“Sorry about that. Do you mind if we call it for now? I forgot I promised to meet a friend.”

“No, of course not.” He sheathed his sword in his coat and put it on, then turned off the heat. “I can drop you off wherever.”

Richie considered it as he slid his sword into its sheath, then put on his coat. He quickly texted his friend, then waited for an answer. “In that case – can you drop me off at the hardware store on Montgomery and First?”

“Sure. Are you helping a friend?”

“Yeah, we’re building some stuff,” Richie said. He smiled and followed Duncan out of the warehouse, then waited for Duncan to lock the door. “Not sure what it all is yet. For all I know, it could be some crazy found art thing. Brad’s very unpredictable.”

Duncan chuckled at that as he unlocked his SUV. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will. If you don’t see me over the next few weeks, it’s probably because of that.”

Nodding his understanding, Duncan got behind the wheel as Richie slid into the passenger seat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to N. for the beta.

#### Monday, March 16 [3 Days until Spring Equinox]

“I’m worried, Joe,” Duncan said as he sat in Joe’s bar. Duncan did not have classes since it was spring break. “Richie’s been out of the house most of the time since he’d been back, which is good – he’s not moping in heartbreak.”

Joe poured Duncan a glass full of whiskey and waited patiently. “But?”

“He’s been getting phone calls and texts at odd hours. I don’t think it’s job related, either – he doesn’t seem as worried as I thought he might be about getting employment. Several times, I’ve seen this black GMC Sierra pickup. When I asked Richie about it, he said it’s his friend Brad’s truck, but I can tell Brad’s another immortal. I’m worried this Brad’s trouble.”

Joe looked at Duncan sympathetically. “No more trouble than he usually is.” Joe hesitated. “Brad’s Cory Raines, Mac. I don’t know what he’s up to, but Richie’s knee deep in it.”

Duncan looked at Joe, horrified. “Is that why Richie’s stayed away? Because he’s been learning to be a better thief?”

Sighing, Joe said gently, “Richie has been learning a lot of things, but he hasn’t been a thief. Have you talked to Connor lately?”

“He texted me this morning to ask if I had next week off. He wants to spend some time together, since it’s been a while.” Duncan shrugged. “I told him sure, since Seacouver University will still be on spring break. Why do you ask?”

Joe looked relieved. “You’ll want to talk to him.”

“About what? Joe, what is Richie involved in?”

Joe looked away a moment before answering, “He’s been trying to escape a curse for the last twenty years. Whether that’s the same thing Cory’s doing, I’m not sure.”

Alarmed, Duncan stared at his Watcher. “Why hasn’t Richie said anything?”

“Because you don’t remember why.” Joe hesitated. “And you don’t remember ever meeting Camille, though I do now, thanks to what he did ten years ago.”

Duncan blinked, the threads of his conversation with Joe evaporating like gossamer. He could feel the weight of his words, but not the words themselves. He glanced down at his whiskey glass, certain he had yet to drink a drop, and yet – the feeling of missing something remained. “What just happened?”

Joe’s face reflected sorrow. “We were talking about old friends,” he said, and removed the whiskey glass. “You should go home, take advantage of a day off. Talk to Richie, ask him about the curse.”

“What curse? Joe, if Richie’s in trouble and you know why, I need to know. I thought we weren’t keeping secrets from each other anymore?”

Joe shook his head. “This isn’t a secret, but I can’t tell you, Mac. I wish I could. You’d never hear my explanation, no matter how often I told you. You need Richie, and you’ll need Connor.” Joe dumped the whiskey glass in the sink and moved away, ending the conversation.

Annoyed, Duncan went home. Joe could not tell him, which to Duncan, meant he was splitting hairs somehow on a promise not to say anything. Joe had told him what he could. The only person who held the answers was Richie.

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

When Duncan walked into the living room, Richie looked surprised. He leaned over the coffee table, upon which was a metal bird cage. He had cut out the middle section of the cage and unscrewed the top of the cage. A curved metal sheet sat ready for use. It was a third of the size of the original cage.

“Are you fixing that?” Duncan asked. “That doesn’t look like it’s big enough to hold a bird anymore, unless it’s some tiny thing.”

Richie hesitated. “No, it’s part of the project I’m working on with Brad.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “You mean with Cory Raines.”

Richie’s face fell. “You talked to Joe.”

“Yes, I talked to Joe. I got worried, Richie. You’ve been going out at odd hours and jumping up at every text. Some immortal I don’t know has been picking you up, and I’m supposed to just assume everything’s okay?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but can’t you just trust me until the Spring Equinox?”

“What’s so important about the Spring Equinox?”

“It’s Thursday? Marks the beginning of spring,” Richie tried.

“Richie,” Duncan growled, “what aren’t you telling me?”

Richie hastily gathered his materials. “Oh, look, it’s nearly 4, and I promised I’d–” He rose.

“Richie. Leave it and sit down,” Duncan ordered. “You’ve taken great pains in the last two decades to stay in touch but not be anywhere within a hundred feet of me. Now you expect me to believe you’re enough broke to need a place to stay? Connor would’ve given you enough money to live on. Same with Matthew, especially if you’ve been training with both. When we’ve sparred, you’re quicker on your feet, more certain of your parries, and you use moves I never taught you. Your Presence has a deeper resonance than I remember you having, which makes me you’ve been playing the Game a lot. Who’s coming you think I need protecting from?”

Richie sat back down with a sigh and put his cage project back on the table. “Do you remember that business with a millennial demon?”

“Of course,” Duncan replied, insulted. “A rogue Watcher thought he could convince me to lay down my sword if he got me to believe in a cock-and-bull story.”

“It wasn’t a story, but a powerful suggestion,” Richie noted. He crossed his arms and met Duncan’s eyes. “If Methos and Joe hadn’t convinced me none of the clues added up, things would be different. That rogue Watcher wanted you to kill me so grief would consume you and take you out of the Game.”

Horrified, Duncan remembered, “Connor called me, and we talked about what was happening. He convinced me to not believe what I was seeing and hearing.”

With a nod, Richie said, “You’re susceptible to verbal suggestions because Cassandra and Roland used Voice on you. Cassandra also used her magic. It makes you vulnerable to other magics, including other demons and the fae.”

Shocked, Duncan stared at him. “You’ve been watching too many movies,” he tried to argue, but even to his ears, the accusation rang hollow.

Richie shook his head as his face reflected a grim sadness. “You keep telling me that. Do you remember anything from the spring of 2000, after you took Frank Coleman’s head and before Connor was teasing you about being easy?”

Duncan frowned as he tried to remember. “No… I was dating a woman? But I can’t remember her name.”

“You won’t. Trust me when I tell you you’ll remember soon enough, but the only way you’ll get through the Spring Equinox is if I’m here with you.”

Duncan’s frown deepened. “What happened, Richie?”

“All that magic you were exposed to before opened a door. Something stepped through. I killed it with Connor and Terence’s help, but–”

“—it’s been long enough, it might come back. And since I don’t remember what you did to kill it, you have to be here.”

Richie nodded. “She’s already here. I can hear her getting stronger.”

“What did I do to you because of her?” Duncan demanded as fear knotted his gut.

“Tried to kill me for the third time,” Richie replied flatly. “Told myself afterwards I needed to get better at recognizing when you were out of your mind, and get better, period.”

“Oh, God, Richie, I’m sorry.”

Richie shook his head. “I would’ve stopped talking to you if I hadn’t forgiven you,” he pointed out.

Duncan looked at him gratefully. “That’s why you stayed in touch with me, even if I kept forgetting everything we talked about. You sounded so sad every time I talked to you. I thought you were depressed, but everyone I knew said I shouldn’t worry so much.”

Richie barked a laugh. “Meanwhile, they were telling me I should see you, fix it so we could talk about this, but I had to tell them I didn’t know how that wouldn’t endanger us both.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Cory told me once he knew magic. I thought he was talking about sleight-of-hand stuff. I laughed at him when he said he knew who could teach me, but that wasn’t what he was talking about, was it?”

Richie shook his head. “No.” He took a deep breath. “It’s like how Connor can walk underwater and not drown, or make it seem like the dead are haunting the living.”

Duncan’s eyes widened. “And how do you propose to defend me from whatever it is?”

“Start by asking you open your mind again. Connor said he couldn’t teach you because it was like you had a block against it. You told him that magic was outdated, that it didn’t belong in the New World. He quit trying then to teach you, on the hope you’d someday change your mind.”

Duncan stared at him as suddenly old conversations made sense.

“You told me demons aren’t real, but if the legends are all true, or if magic is science we haven’t explained yet, then–”

“Then so are other things,” Duncan finished. “Richie, this feels like a conversation we’ve had often. What makes it different this time?”

Richie smiled and said something in a language Duncan didn’t recognize.

Feeling as though Richie had dunked him in a tub full of water, Duncan blinked. With sharp clarity, he remembered telling Richie the Sidhe weren’t as powerful as they once were, but that he hadn’t ruled them out as no longer existing. “Why do I remember us discussing old gods and folklore, especially about the Sidhe?”

Richie looked relieved. “Because twenty years ago you told me something different.”

Duncan stared at him. “And she made me forget,” he said, then blinked, as if realizing he’d said his thoughts aloud.

“Don’t say her name. She’s one of the Sidhe.”

“And she’s back?”

Nodding, Richie took a deep breath. “She marked me with her final words. I thought I was safe; so did Connor and Terence. Neither of them knew what I learned from coming back here ten years ago.”

Duncan sat down, alarmed. “Which is?”

“Lethe’s Demons mark their next victims by promising them they’ll return at some future date. What they don’t tell you is that they can come back anytime if you’re in the same city, near their earlier victims, and somewhere they have been before. You met this one at Joe’s. Connor, Terence, and I didn’t think about cleansing Joe or Joe’s because it didn’t occur to us that was an issue.” Richie sighed heavily. “Kyra figured it out. She and a witch named Indiana Smith helped me cleanse Joe and Joe’s of the Lethe’s Demon’s marks, but I had to leave the city. I couldn’t be near you for fear of triggering the demon again. That’s why you haven’t seen me for the last ten years. Before that, I was so determined to learn as much as I could about magic that avoiding you was a byproduct. I knew you would ask me about her, and you wouldn’t remember anything I said if I mentioned her name, so I just gave up after a while. I would be more worried if you were in the same building as you had before.”

Duncan stared at him. “Because she would’ve imbued that place with her magic.” He put a hand over his eyes as he groaned. “No wonder Connor was so insistent I come help him. He wanted me to have enough reason to sell what I had here.”

Richie nodded. “He promised me and Terence Coventry he’d do what he could to protect you. After we killed the demon the first time, I went with Terence down to Portland. He taught me what he knew about using music to fight against the fae and magic. We discovered I suck at playing the flute and can’t sing, not even to save my life. He sent me to a student of his down in San Francisco, who knew a witch who could teach me more. That’s how I met Indiana, but even she felt like what she could teach me wasn’t enough. Indiana sent me to someone else, who sent me to someone else.” Richie met Duncan’s eyes. “I’ve been across the US, Europe, and Asia, preparing for this year’s Spring Equinox. You and I have more friends in common than we used to.”

Duncan’s eyes widened as he realized that was how so many of his friends seemed to have stories of Richie. “So what is a Lethe’s Demon?”

“A hybrid fae and a succubus,” Richie said. “She’ll feed off our life-force until we’re dead. As immortals, we have enough collected Quickenings to power her for the next several millennia. If we speak her name now, we’ll summon her. I don’t want to compromise my wards; she’s already been testing them to see how good they are.”

Duncan grimaced. “I believe you, but is there someone else I can talk to about this without risking harm?”

“Cory, for one. Kyra’s flying in tomorrow so she can help on Thursday.”

“Where does Cory fit into this?”

“He promised Ceirdwyn to help me build everything I need.”

Duncan stared at Richie. “You believe he’ll keep that?”

“If he doesn’t, she’ll kick his ass. She’s known him almost as long as Matthew has; Matthew brought her in to help him teach Cory not to take a woman for granted.” Richie smiled briefly. “Watching them argue about who was right made for some enlightening conversations.”

“When was this?”

Richie took a deep breath. “I’ve been studying with Ceirdwyn for the last two years. I’m sorry I lied to you about why I needed to be here with you now. I figured if I told you I was heartbroken, broke, and in need of some training, you’d buy my excuses and take me in.”

“So there was never anyone named Jordan who broke your heart?”

“Oh, it’s more accurate to say I broke Jordan’s heart by walking away. Matthew finally convinced Ceirdwyn I was fit to take on as a student. I couldn’t pass that up, but when I went to tell Jordan I was leaving, they proposed. Having to tell them no, I was leaving town, and wouldn’t be back hurt.” He breathed through the memory. “I loved them a lot.” At Duncan’s curious look, Richie explained, “Jordan identifies as ‘they.’ I thought they were a very pretty man. Maybe when this is over, I’ll go back to Baltimore, but it’s been long enough, I’m sure they’ve moved on.”

“I’m sorry, Richie.” Duncan looked again at the half-reconstructed bird cage. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Right now? Help me figure out how to reattach this whole thing so it’s smaller and I can still put my hand into it?”

“What will we use it for?”

“Kyra’s supposed to bring a proper canopic jar for a heart, but since that’s clay, we’ll need iron to encircle it.”

Duncan blanched. “I’m not liking where this is going.”

Richie shot him an unamused smile. “I haven’t liked it for twenty years. I’ve looked for answers that wouldn’t need this much effort, and I’ve nearly lost my head for it. To kill a Lethe’s Demon means repeating everything I did the first time and pulling out her heart and putting it in a cage.” He took a breath before adding, “And she’ll use us both to do anything to stay alive. As long as one of us is marked by her magic, she’ll continue to manifest and haunt us.”

Duncan studied Richie a moment, seeing the hard-won maturity and wisdom behind his words. “Let’s move this project over to the dining room table so we can both work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback adored!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to N. for the beta.

#### Tuesday, March 17, 2020 Two Days until Spring Equinox

“I thought you would help finish installing the cage,” Duncan said warily, seeing Richie putting on his motorcycle gear. Expecting to do carpentry work, Duncan had dressed in a denim button-down shirt, jeans, and work boots.

“No, I want to check on the wards we set up at Joe’s, so the demon can’t go there while we’re trying to lure her to the warehouse, and then I have to pic up Kyra at the airport. I’ll meet you at the warehouse, but before I go, there’s something I have to give you.” From an inside pocket in his jacket, Richie withdrew a velvet pouch and handed it to Duncan.

Duncan opened the pouch to find a Celtic cross necklace on a thick silver rope chain. The pendant felt heavy. He took the silent cue to put on the necklace. The pendant fell at his collarbones.

Richie stepped close and pressed his hand to the pendant. “By the power of the Divine, unlock the blessing given to Duncan by his cousin.”

Shock poured through Duncan as he felt the pendant warm. A cloak of love and protection enveloped him, as heavy and real as the wool riding cloak Connor had once gifted him. He thought he saw Connor standing in front of him, a knowing smirk on his face.

 _Do you believe me now, kinsman?_ Connor asked.

The voice was so real, Duncan responded aloud. “Yes.”

Amused and looking as though he had expected that reaction, Richie grinned. “Connor’s not here, Mac. He gave me that to give to you a while back. Said I’d know when you’d need it. I didn’t want to leave you blind and unprotected.”

Duncan turned stunned eyes to his former student. In that moment, he understood Richie could have defeated Camille without ever letting him know what had happened. Swallowing hard, Duncan met Richie’s gaze. Friendship, affection, and respect radiated from the younger immortal. “Thanks. What about you? If I’m understanding you, you’re her target.”

Nodding, Richie said, “I’m counting on it, actually. Don’t worry.” He tapped his collar to reveal a sigil of Hecate pendant pin. “Kyra gave me this one; I’m good.” He grasped Duncan’s shoulder reassuringly. “Cory is coming to meet you here; he just texted me he’s on his way. Don’t forget to take the heart cage with you. I’ll see you in a while. Cory still drives like a maniac; speed limits are guidelines to him, not the law.”

“I noticed he kept burning rubber every time he picked you up,” Duncan said dryly. “I’ll insist on driving my SUV. Watch your head.”

“You do the same, Mac.” Richie picked up his helmet and exited the house.

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

“Have you seen Richie?” Cory worried as they stood in Duncan’s warehouse, securing the cage in place on the hangman-style scaffolding they had erected.

“He said he was going to Joe’s and then pick up Kyra from the airport,” Duncan told him. “I haven’t seen her since I helped her in 1998 in Paris.”

From the top of a ladder, Cory smirked. “Helped her?” he snarked. “Surprised she didn’t kick your ass and not give you the time of day.”

Unashamed of what he had shared with Kyra, Duncan lifted a brow. “That tells me you didn’t get very far,” he countered.

Cory snorted as secured the quick-release harness on the top of the cage, then he tossed the rope to Duncan. “She’s never had much patience for me.”

Duncan wrapped the drop rope around the hand crank they had screwed into the main support pole. “When did you first meet her?”

“She was guarding Lady Jane Grey a year before they proclaimed her queen,” Cory said, “so that would’ve been 1552.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow. “You tried to seduce an heiress to the throne of England?” He then tied off the end of rope to the cleat they had tacked beside the hand crank.

Cory shrugged, unapologetic. “Not the worst thing I’ve ever tried,” he offered.

Duncan groaned. “Cory, how many times have you died for mistakes like that?”

“I don’t count,” Cory said cheerfully. “As long as it doesn’t kill me permanently, it doesn’t matter. At least Kyra convinced me to turn around and hightail it out of there before she had to report me. I wasn’t expecting one of us to be guarding a woman like Lady Jane. In hindsight, I should have.”

He stepped down the ladder and viewed their handiwork. “What do you think?”

Duncan studied it. The iron cage hung from a hangman-style frame. “If we were using this to trap a deer, I’d say we were fine. We have those bottles of water we pulled from your truck you haven’t let me drink. What are those for, and what’s in them?”

“We’ll need them later, and it’s holy water.”

“Didn’t know you could get it in a 12-piece multipack.”

“If you get them blessed by a priest, then yes. How do you suppose the basin at the church on James Street get refilled? Priest told me the health code makes them empty the basin daily in case someone drinks from it, and it’s easier to get the bottles of water at Costco. He figures it doesn’t hurt to bless the bottles in case he has to give one to someone thirsty.”

“Never thought about it, honestly. I don’t go to that church.” Duncan considered the notion, then shrugged as he realized it made sense. “Remind me why we need holy water? I thought we could kill the Sidhe with iron.”

“We’re dealing with a hybrid fae who’s part succubus,” Cory replied. “Succubae can be killed with holy water and blessed objects.”

“Oh,” Duncan said. “So, we need both, got it.” He studied the structure he had helped build, considering that news. “Given that, it’s as good as we can get it. I don’t know what else we can do.”

“That’s why you need me.” Cory flashed a grin, but Duncan could read the worry underlining his humor.

Cory folded the stepladder and set it against the wall near the coat tree, his tool bag, the 12-pack of water bottles, and the stack of tools and supplies. He packed the cordless power drill into its carrying case and handed Duncan a broom. The plastic cases of screws, anchors, and other pieces went into a shopping bag, which Cory took out to his truck with the drill. When he returned, he coiled the excess rope and began picking up the excess supplies. He paused long enough to hold a trash bag open so Duncan could sweep debris into it. Both men took turns picking up what they had brought with them, so all that remained were the trap, the water bottles, the former bird cage turned heart cage, and Cory’s tool bag.

“That’s the last of it,” Duncan declared. Satisfaction filled him, but he could feel the anticipation of battle rising in him. He tamped down the urge to call out Camille’s name, aware he did not have enough weapons to fight her. He was equally certain Cory was only marginally more prepared than he was.

“Then we’re done.” Cory glanced at his watch and frowned, then pulled his phone out of his pocket, checked something, and dialed a number.

Duncan stepped closer. “Who are you calling?”

“Richie. Kyra’s flight landed an hour ago. They should be here already.” Cory switched the call to speaker, so Duncan heard it go to voicemail.

“Hi, it’s Richie. You’ve reached my voicemail. Sorry I can’t take your call. Leave me a message or text me. Thanks!” Richie’s recorded voice said cheerfully.

Duncan pulled out his phone and tried calling Richie, but got the same message. “Don’t suppose you have Kyra’s number?”

“No, but someone else is supposed to be here, too.” Without saying who it was, Cory dialed another number. He ignored Duncan’s obvious curiosity.

“Darling, so good to hear from you. Did you have a good flight? Well, we’re not at MacLeod’s; we’re elsewhere, but we can meet you – yes. Mac has an SUV; that will fit all four of us and your luggage. Do you have Kyra with you? Oh, good. One less trip to make. Give us twenty, thirty minutes, but can you do something while I have you on speaker?” He quickly pressed the button to switch it to speaker.

“Whatever contraption you have set up, Cory, I’m sure it will suffice, with or without a blessing,” a woman said dryly.

“I’d feel a lot better if you and Kyra gave it one before we went to pick you two up, Ceirdwyn,” Cory replied. He stood with his arms crossed, radiating uncharacteristic worry.

Duncan’s eyes widened as he recognized the name. Ceirdwyn and Kyra were old female immortals. Abruptly, Duncan realized that he had never asked Kyra what being a priestess of Diana had required or if the Celtic war paint Ceirdwyn had sometimes worn had a deeper meaning than the vague ‘ancient tradition’ she had given. From the way Cory was acting, he knew more than Duncan did.

“Describe it to us,” Ceirdwyn commanded.

“Iron cage big enough to hold a Lethe’s Demon.” His arms dropped as he let out a relieved breath.

“Suspended from a rope using a pulley system,” Duncan added.

“Oh, you know what’s going on now?” Ceirdwyn asked.

“Yes. Richie told me.” Duncan grimaced. He had not enjoyed remembering how he had acted towards his former protégé while under Camille’s thrall.

“Good. I wasn’t looking forward to telling you if he hadn’t. Did he give you anything to protect you?”

“Yes, he made me put on a cross necklace. Connor did something to it; it feels different.” Unconsciously, Duncan touched the pendant, which was in the shape of a Celtic cross. Even now, hours after he had put it on, it felt imbued with power.

“Good. Stay out of the cage area now that you’re done. Cory, step into the middle and take your phone with you. After we disconnect, walk the cardinal points around the cage area. You ready?”

Cory quickly moved into place. “Now I am.”

“Let us give you some energy to help. Go with the gods, Corwin a’Green, and know you have been blessed.”

“As we wish it, so mote it be,” Kyra intoned.

Standing just outside the cage area, Duncan swore he could feel the edge of their blessing pour down like faint but insistent drizzle. Later, he promised himself, later he would ask them how they knew what to say, but for now, he let it soak into his skin, certain he would need it.

“Thanks, darlings. We’ll see you in a bit.” Cory disconnected the call, pocked his phone, and then walked to the four corners of the cage-drop area, pausing at each. “One for the north, one for the east, one for the south, and one for the west, where I walk, so will it be blessed,” he chanted as he walked counterclockwise, then stopped in the middle. As he named each direction, he laid his hands out, palms up, in the stated direction. “One for the top and one for the bottom, hold our intentions strong. On behalf of my friends and myself, I bind this net with my charm and my word. Take this blessing, gods of old and new, and turn it into a net worthy and true.”

Duncan’s eyes widened as he saw a clear spark of something outlined around the cage like a net. For a moment, he saw Cory’s innate charm turned into a living shield. The flash of magic vanished as soon as he tried to focus.

With a pleased grin, Cory turned to Duncan. “Let’s go pick them up from the airport and then we can find Richie.”

Duncan’s mouth tightened. “You can pick them up; I’ll go find Richie.”

Cory shook his head. “You can’t be alone, MacLeod. Didn’t Richie tell you that?”

“He didn’t. Why not?” Confused, Duncan looked at the other man.

“We have less than two days before the equinox opens a door to the Fair Folk,” Cory told him grimly as he collected their tools and shoved them into a heavyweight tool bag. “That’s part of how Connor, Terence, and Richie defeated the Lethe’s Demon before. We can break this curse forever if we do it in the next forty-eight hours. However, if the original victim learns of the demon’s name before then and doesn’t have someone around to pull him back from the edge, the demon can repossess them. Potentially, that could mean two victims for the demon.”

Duncan grimaced. “That explains why he pulled in so many people. I thought this was a two-person job.”

“You want to lose more memories than what you have already, feel free. You want to fight this thing alone, go ahead. Charge forth and be yourself; I can’t stop you.”

The resigned tone in the other immortal’s voice made Duncan pause. “But?”

“But if you want my two cents, I wouldn’t go. I lost ten years to one of those things. If Ceirdwyn hadn’t gone looking for me, I’m not sure I’d be alive. Bad enough I was sitting in an 1800s asylum, put there by someone who thought I was out of my mind and half-dead.” Annoyed, Cory stalked out to his truck and tossed his tools into the cab.

Realizing he had made assumptions, Duncan followed him out and apologized. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this was personal to you.” He locked the warehouse and unlocked his SUV.

“Even if I hadn’t experienced this crap, I’d still do it,” Cory told Duncan as they climbed into the SUV. “I like Richie. He has an irrepressible optimism even in the face of danger.”

Smothering a laugh, Duncan acknowledged Cory’s assessment with a nod. He turned on the engine and headed towards the airport. Silently, Duncan hoped that what Ceirdwyn and Kyra had to give would be enough. He did not know magic the way Connor did, and the extent of Richie’s training with dealing with the threat they faced was unknown. If they failed – Duncan shuddered at the thought. He had just gotten Richie back in his life. He did not want to lose him again.

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

The ping of an incoming text sounded in Richie’s helmet as he pulled to a stop at a light three blocks from the warehouse. “Siri, please read the message,” he commanded his phone.

“Incoming message from Robin Hood. We’re on our way to the airport. Did you get Joe’s squared away?”

“Siri, send a text message to Robin Hood that says, ‘Yes _._ ’”

“Sending,” the AI confirmed. “Message sent.”

Immortal presence washed through him as he sat at the light. Richie watched as Duncan and Cory drove past him. He waved hello and got a thumb’s up from Cory.

Using the key Duncan had given him, he unlocked the warehouse, disengaged the alarm, and stripped off his motorcycle gear. He set his jacket, helmet, overpants, and motorcycle boots near the coat rack. His sword was in a crossbody sheath; a knife hung from his belt. He wore a long-sleeve emerald green t-shirt, jeans, and white socks. From the backpack he brought with him, he pulled out a pair of waterproof hiking boots and put them on. He then unpacked his supplies: a box of taper candles, a lighter, clay putty, a set of iron taper candleholders, and a container of iron filings. He set the container of iron filings in front of the coat rack. He was pleased to see that Cory and Duncan had brought the bird cage-turned-heart cage. A bright pink sticky note attached to the flat of water bottles denoted them as “Holy H2O,” which made Richie grin briefly.

His years of magic training enabled him to feel and see the protective barriers around the cage and its drop mechanism. Now, he took the time to denote an entrance and an exit, setting it so only specific people could use them. He set the candles to mark the lines, lighting them in sequence. Forty minutes later, he had just lit the last candle when he heard footsteps, though he was certain he had shut the door to the warehouse. Turning, he stared at the woman.

“Wendy? What are you doing here?”

She did not answer, but kept advancing.

Richie swore as he realized he should have locked the door.

Wendy’s eyes were oddly colored, her face twisted into a mask of intent. She wore only a thin sweater, jeans without a belt, and dress flats. Her nipples showed through the sweater’s fabric, making Richie think she had not been in control of what she had put on. Dread and regret filled Richie as he realized what had happened. He took a deep breath to help him compartmentalize the feelings and focused on his training.

Quickly, Richie muttered, “By the Divine, put a wall between me and the demon before me so she cannot touch me. As I will it, so mote it be.”

Using his right hand pointed downward, he sketched a line between him and Wendy, then laid his hand flat and sketched a wall.

Like a zombie, Wendy moved forward, stopping only when her toe brushed the line. A magical wall flared into existence. She bounced off and collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Compassion for Wendy made him want to rush forward and check on her body. Knowledge she was no longer the person who had been Wendy helped Richie stay where he was. “Stop hiding, Camille. I wondered how you’d come back since we left you bodiless.”

“You can’t kill me now,” she taunted, rising to her feet. Wendy’s body jerked in a parody of smooth motion. “You won’t dare.”

A cold, sulfurous wind filled the warehouse. The candles, anchored by the clay putty, stayed put; reinforced by magic, they remained lit. Camille screamed in frustration.

“You don’t know what I’ll dare now.” Richie took a half-step backward. “You want me, Camille? Come and get me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy International Fanworks Day! Feedback much appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

Ceirdwyn and Kyra wasted no time exiting Duncan’s SUV. Sensing they were in a hurry, Duncan tossed the keys to Ceirdwyn. She unlocked the door and led the way inside. Kyra paused long enough to grab a bag from the SUV.

“Don’t touch the woman,” Ceirdwyn ordered as soon as the rest of the group converged inside, following her. “And breathe carefully.”

Stepping inside, Duncan found the smell of sulfur was intense in the space and made him gag. Cory stuffed something in his hand; Duncan looked down and saw it was a bandana. The brief distraction was enough to help him. Ceirdwyn and Kyra did not seem bothered by the smell and moved to the side of the warehouse floor where they held a whispered conference. Duncan spared them a brief look. He saw Richie inside the cage drop area. His gaze turned to find Wendy, her body pressed against an invisible wall that had been erected between the cage drop area and Richie.

Shocked, he stared at her. His mind catalogued details – how the usually impeccably dressed woman did not appear to be wearing anything that coordinated, how her jeans exposed her hips because of the lack of a belt, how her face was contorted in rage.

“Wendy?” Duncan gasped. He could not believe his girlfriend was here, in the middle of a workday, much less writhing against a wall that did not physically exist.

Kyra spared him a pitying glance as she pulled out a canopic jar from the bag she carried and slid it into the modified bird cage. “Your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Not anymore,” Cory told him. “We need to kill her.”

Duncan flinched, incredulous. “We can’t do that!” He started towards her, only to have Cory jerk him back.

Annoyed at his interference, Duncan stared at Cory. “What the hell, Cory? You can’t kill Wendy! She’s not one of us!”

“She’s also not human anymore, Mac,” Cory replied grimly, holding tight to the arm he had grabbed and using his body to block Duncan.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Wendy is now the body for the demon Richie, Connor, and Terence killed. You knew that demon as Camille. Camille ate Wendy up like candy sometime this morning – and no, I didn’t see that happen; I just know that’s how this shit goes. Lethe’s Demons need a vessel to manifest the second time. They count on you being unwilling to kill someone. Preferably someone you were close to.”

Horrified, Duncan stared at Cory. The laughing scamp Duncan knew had been wiped away, leaving the seven-hundred-year-old immortal Duncan had only glimpsed in the seconds after Cory had stolen a Quickening. Old grief was reflected in Cory’s eyes, telling Duncan without words that whoever the Lethe’s Demon had used as a vessel in Cory’s case had been someone Cory had loved deeply. Grief swamped Duncan as he realized Wendy – petite, vivacious, pretty Wendy – was dead.

“I’m sorry, Cory,” Duncan managed, swallowing hard.

“Me too. We’ll hold a proper wake for Wendy when this is over, and you can tell me all about her.”

Duncan reached up and gripped Cory’s upper arm briefly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Assured by that, Cory released his grip on Duncan and stepped back.

Ceirdwyn and Kyra had stripped off their coats, hanging them from the coat rack. Kyra picked up a metal container from in front of the coat rack while Ceirdwyn used a pocketknife and sliced open the case of holy water, taking two of the bottles. As one, they approached the demon who was focused on Richie.

Kyra sprinkled the contents of the container behind the demon, who hissed at her in murderous rage. The way the former contents fell made Duncan wonder if they were iron shavings or filings or something else.

Intent on helping, Duncan started forward, only to be stopped once again by Cory’s arm barring him from going forward. “Sorry, but what needs doing isn’t anything we can do.”

“What is Kyra putting down?”

“Iron filings,” Cory told him.

Duncan’s eyes widened as he realized how useful those would be in this situation. “But we need to help our friends,” he argued.

“We can help them by staying out of the way and make sure no one else comes into that cage area. Ceirdwyn, Kyra, and Richie can handle this. We’ve done our part. We will not cross those lines of candles, either, no matter what happens. Kyra, Ceirdwyn, and Richie might need those iron filings some place we don’t know yet, and we don’t want to waste them.”

Duncan had never heard Cory sound authoritarian before, but in that moment, he could hear Matthew McCormick, and could completely see Matthew as Cory’s teacher.

“Now hush, stay put, and don’t stare too long at the monstrosity that is Camille.” He glared at Duncan, who nodded his reluctant compliance.

Duncan chafed at the restraint, too used to defending and protecting his people, but he took his cue from Cory, who appeared to know more about the situation than he did.

⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚⚔️🧚

Seeing what Kyra had done, Ceirdwyn poured the water from the bottles she held over the iron. “Bless this,” she said.

Though the bottles had not been heated, steam hissed upwards.

Feeling the holy water against her back, Camille recoiled and slammed up against the wall Richie had made. Then Camille saw the opening and slid sideways out of the dual-walled trap.

Instantly, she moved forward, between the candles, towards Richie. The candlelit path kept her from straying or charging him, and she shrieked as the blessed fire nipped at her body.

Richie waited until she was completely under the trap, then he triggered the cage. It slid smoothly downward, trapping Camille, who screamed and instinctively reverted her true form. Her wings beat against the bars, triggering her screams again as she tried to use her ability to fly to lift the cage and flee the trap.

Duncan’s eyes widened as he finally saw what Camille was. He could not believe he had fallen under her spell all those years ago. She was a monster who ate people and used their life force as fuel. He almost said something, but Cory touched him, jerking him away from looking too long. Cory held up a finger to his lips and pantomimed putting his hand over his eyes, then over his heart. Duncan did so and felt the Celtic cross pendant warm again, as if to reinforce its protection.

_She was a fae demon, kinsman,_ he heard Connor say. _She saw your heartbreak and need and used you._

Needing to focus on something other than the monster in the cage, Duncan looked to where Kyra and Ceirdwyn stood. Ceirdwyn had retrieved a lyre and a canopic jar from the bag Kyra had carried into the warehouse and set along the coat rack wall; she now passed the lyre to Kyra.

Kyra strummed the lyre and sang an old Greek lullaby. The lullaby was a protection spell against the forces of Hades. Her voice rang out strong, over Camille’s screams as she beat her wings and tried to fly. It seemed an eternity before Camille’s efforts to fly slowly but surely subsided as she fell asleep and her wings, singed by the iron, stilled.

“She asleep?” Ceirdwyn asked.

Richie nodded and quickly lifted the cage. He drew his sword and cut off Camille’s head. Not pausing, he turned her over and cut out her heart.

Ceirdwyn stepped forward with the canopic jar. Grimacing, Richie dumped the demon’s heart into the jar. Ceirdwyn poured holy water over the contents, which sizzled with the smell of sulfur. Richie capped the jar and twisted the bird cage wire to hold it shut, then handed it to Kyra.

Kyra then said, “Let’s send this heart back to the River Lethe from where it came.”

Then Ceirdwyn poured even more water over Camille’s corpse as she said, “Die forever, Camille, Lethe’s Demon. I have named and charged you thusly.”

Camille’s spirit rose and looked at Ceirdwyn challengingly. Holes in the fabric of her spiritual body showed where Richie, Ceirdwyn, and Kyra had scored hits.

Cory nudged Duncan. “Take my hand and repeat what she said, quickly, with me.”

“Die forever, Camille, Lethe’s Demon,” Duncan repeated, in chorus with Cory. “We have named and charged you thusly.”

“Die forever, Camille, Lethe’s Demon,” Richie chorused. “I have named and charged you thusly. This I mote, so shall it be.”

Camille’s features contorted as the power of the invocation caused her spirit to shatter into a million pieces. Her corpse became ash and melted into the floor.

Kyra set the jar holding Camille’s heart on the floor in the space where her corpse had lain. “Step back, and quickly,” she warned. “Don’t break the lines.”

Richie and Ceirdwyn followed Kyra out of the space. The jar exploded. For a moment, it looked and felt as though a bomb had gone off. Incredibly, the sound of a heartbeat and Camille’s smug laugh could be heard. A wall of magic, outlined by the candles, sprung up to contain the explosion, powered by Richie’s magic, Cory’s preparations, and Ceirdwyn’s blessing. The walls bent outward under the impressive force but held. Camille’s beating heart hung suspended in air.

“She’ll try to escape,” Ceirdwyn warned. She sang, “Hush-a-by baby, babe not mine. My woeful wail, do you pity never? Hush-a-by baby, babe not mine. A thousand years ago, I was snatched forever. Hush-a-by baby, babe not mine. My woeful wail, do you pity never? The gods blessed me with gifts forever, and so I bid you die, bid you die, bid you die.”

The heart crumbled to dust and evaporated.

For a moment, no one spoke.

“Is she dead?” Duncan asked.

Ceirdwyn held up a hand. “Dear gods, please bless this space and us so we are never touched by a Lethe’s Demon again,” she prayed.

“Amen,” Richie chorused, as the others quickly echoed his sentiment.

The smell of sulfur dissipated instantly.

Ceirdwyn closed her eyes briefly, then looked at Kyra, who nodded confirmation.

“She’s dead,” Kyra confirmed. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”


	10. Chapter 10

#### Thursday, March 19 – Spring Equinox

After helping dismantle the cage, trap apparatus, sweep the warehouse, and bless it again, Kyra, and Ceirdwyn had bid Richie and Duncan goodbye.

“I can’t thank you all enough for everything,” Duncan said gratefully to his friends before the women left. “How do I not screw up all you’ve done? Surely Camille won’t be the last Lethe’s Demon I’ll meet.”

Ceirdwyn looked at him kindly. “You won’t forget now how she smelled, how leathery her skin felt despite the ever-present bottle of rose-scented lotion she used, how she never used a door. You won’t forget any of these things, and you’ll remember to ask what she is.”

“If she tells you she’s from the old country, ask her which one,” Cory added. “Lethe’s Demons tell you it won’t matter; they’re all the same. You won’t find it as funny the next time.”

Duncan nodded his understanding. “Is that why you could use your knowledge against the Sidhe?” he asked Kyra.

“I know them as demons and agents from the underworld, sent to tempt us into death that much sooner,” Kyra replied. “I’ve never seen them as ‘fair folk.’” Her tone conveyed her derision. “Greek lullabies are protection spells; we never left that shit to chance.”

Cory stayed long enough to have a few drinks at Joe’s to remember Wendy and share the story of the woman he had loved who had suffered the same fate, but he, too, had claimed a need to be elsewhere.

“How come you aren’t worried about the Equinox?” Duncan asked.

“Because you won’t be alone,” Cory told him, grinning. He turned to Richie. “Text me if you’re interested in taking me up on what we discussed.”

Richie snorted. “Not if it means people think I’ve lost my mind and you’ve sullied my good reputation.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You know I live to see your fun ruined,” Richie shot back, but then ruined his seriousness with an impish grin. “Drive safe.” He hugged Cory, then stepped back.

Fifteen minutes later, Duncan looked at Richie, who had followed him home from Joe’s. “Guess that means you need not be here anymore,” he noted quietly.

Richie barked a laugh. “Guess not. But I’d like to take a few days, if it’s all the same to you, to make sure something else doesn’t happen, and then sleep and not think about it.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Duncan was not surprised to see Connor on his doorstep the morning of the Spring Equinox, demanding breakfast after ‘such a long, horrendous flight.’

“Why did you let me go without teaching me about magic?” Duncan asked Connor once they were down to the remains of breakfast. Richie sat sipping coffee and nibbling on toast at one side of the table, looking as though he had heard this story before.

Connor shrugged. “I didn’t know it when I first taught you,” he offered. “And that hermit’s Quickening messed you up. I thought it was enough to straighten out that so you were sane, could fight, and knew what immortality was before we moved onto the stranger things one can do as an immortal. I also thought we had more time.”

“You need an open heart and a willing mind to learn this stuff, Mac,” Richie added. “From everything I heard from our mutual friends, you were kind of like me when you were younger – more interested in exploring the world, loving pretty women, fighting for a good cause, and discovering all the new technologies, than revisiting what felt like old nonsense.”

Duncan winced at the correct assessment. “It felt like we were going backwards, talking about magic and old beliefs. Sorry, Connor. But I’ve always thought you had something I didn’t to have learned what you know – more time, more patience, something. I didn’t know my ignorance could cost me and the people I cared about.”

“Not like people would’ve talked about Lethe’s Demons or hybrid fae,” Richie interjected. “My research says that’s been a reaction to everyone using iron and ceasing, as much, to believe in the fae. They had to adapt to change, just like you did.”

“That too,” Connor agreed. “But today is a good day to fix the wards, set the protections, teach you by doing. The fae and other magical creatures like to see if we’re paying attention today.” He rose and put his dishes in the sink.

“I did the house and the garage when I first got here,” Richie offered. “But I wouldn’t mind if you reinforced the protection I set up. His house should have his wards, not mine, but I figured we’d get to it when we killed Camille.”

Connor beamed at him, then turned to his cousin, looking at him. “Don’t be a lazy bum. We have things to do.”

“Mac, go with Connor; I got cleanup,” Richie offered.

“Thanks, Richie,” Duncan said as he rose and put his dishes in the sink. “Come find us when you’re done.” He paused. “And if I haven’t said it already, Richie–”

Richie looked at him expectantly.

“Thanks for everything.”

Richie grinned. “You’re welcome, Mac.”

Duncan carried that gratitude into his lessons with his cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's commented and put kudos on this as it was being posted - I really appreciate you! Hope you like the end!  
> If you're reading this long after the original posting date - please note that I love to read comments and get kudos even when this fic is old and I've forgotten I wrote it. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism, comments, kudos, and keyboard smashes all welcome! Please subscribe so you get updated when I post new content. :-)


End file.
